The Ones Who Stay With Us

 

I have spent most of my life caring for others. As an LNA, I’ve walked along side the elderly, loved those living with dementia, and supported special needs students in Intensive needs programs and those on the Autism spectrum. Caregiving has taught me patience, resilience, and compassion in ways nothing else ever could.

When you do this kind of work long enough, you learn an important truth, you don’t just care for people, you grow to care about them.

Most clients leave an imprint on your heart in some way, but every so often there is someone who settles into a deeper place. Someone who stays in your heart and thoughts. Trillium was one of those people.

I spent nearly six years with her. Six years of routines and small victories, challenges and laughter, quiet moments that outsiders might never notice, but that meant everything to me and I believe it meant something to her as well. She was mostly non verbal, a word or phrase here and there, but we definitely connected. She often would giggle at my silliness and her smile could light up a room. Whenever we went somewhere in the car, she would smile at me, giggle a little and shimmy her shoulders because I often “danced” while driving to the music on the radio and she would eventually join me. I wish I had known her before she had Alzheimer’s. Hearing the stories and seeing the love through her family and friends, gave me a glimpse. Her husband and daughters shared many memories with me over time. How she enjoyed antiques and stained glass and throwing Kentucky Derby parties, hats and all. She appeared to be quite the incredible mother, wife, business partner and friend. One of my favorite things to witness was when her son (in his 20s at the time) would come in after work and hop in her lap and wrap his arms around her neck, she’d smile and sometimes giggle. It meant as much to her as it did him. Didn’t matter that he was a full grown man now, he was still her baby boy and the love for each other was evident. 

Over time the line between client and family softened, not because boundaries disappeared but because love showed up anyway. There were moments that were uncomfortable, when I had concerns that had to be discussed, I was there so often, there were a few times Trill’s husband and I would butt heads. But we always worked it out because we had a mutual respect and love for Trillium. He and I built a friendship over time as well and even since Trillium has passed, he has shown up in a way that friends do. Trill’s family became dear to me as well. That is another part of caretaking that often goes unseen, the ways families trust you with their loved one, and in doing so, invite you into their lives. That trust is humbling and it changes you. Here it is, four years since Trill died and I still periodically hear from her kids through social media or Christmas card, and once in awhile Mark and I will go out for a beer.

Trillium passed away 4 years ago, and I still miss her so much. I miss her presence, her spirit, the way she lit up a room just by being in it. I miss the connection we shared, the kind that doesn’t fade just because time passes or roles change. Some people don’t leave when they go; they just take up residence in your memory and your heart.

Grief like this doesn’t look like people expect. It’s quiet, it’s gentle and it shows up unexpectedly in memories, moments and reminders of how deeply you were allowed to love someone who was never “yours” and yet somehow always will be.

Trill reminded me why I chose this work. Why I keep doing it. Why I continue to show up even when it’s hard. Because caring is not just a job, it’s a calling and sometimes that calling brings you someone who leaves a permanent mark on your soul.

Trillium did that for me and I think I will always carry her with me. Losing Trillium did not end what we shared, it only changed the way I carry it. Her life, her spirit and the time we spent together are woven in to who I am as a caregiver and as a person. She is one of the reasons I continue to show up with patience and an open heart even knowing how deeply it can hurt if you lose them.

Some people are not meant to stay forever, but they leave behind evidence of God’s grace in our lives. Trill did that for me and in every act of care I offer now, her legacy and the blessing of knowing her lives on.