The great wait

It was nearing 9 pm on a Tuesday in May. I was sitting beside Nana on the edge of her bed, trying to help her finish the 6-ounce glass of orange juice still lingering from breakfast. She looked thoughtful, so naturally I asked her what she was thinking.

She shrugged her shoulders, looked right at me, and said back matter-of-factly “I just have to wait.”

I inquired further into what she was waiting on.

Nana responded with another shoulder shrug, this time looking down and away.

Despite the dementia, I know what I know after walking life with Nan for 41 years. This was clearly a moment of reckoning – one of many moments that I have been blessed to experience inside of more than 3 years of caregiving, and also one of several moments in recent months that I would categorize as intriguing, confounding, magical, confronting, comforting, or some combination of these.

Nana has on repeat occasions reached out and into the air, a behavior I have come to learn is often seen toward the end of life in patients with dementia. When I once went to check on her in the night, Nana spoke the words “I understand” out of nowhere, apparently another moment of her coming to terms with what is transpiring. Another time, on asking Nana how she felt as she stood to get on her walker, she responded with the somewhat larger answer than I was anticipating “I’m getting used to it.”

Further still, while watching Andre Rieu play an instrumental version of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” on YouTube, Nana announced “I want to go my way.” This might have been her brain mixing verb choice. Just a few weeks later, on asking Nana if she was comfortable as I tucked her in for the night, she said “Very, but there’s only one thing,” then closed her eyes to rest. This could have been fatigue. On an intuitive level, however, I am sure both of these instances represented more.

Now, going back to “I just have to wait.” This comment hit me hard because I’ve been increasingly fed up, annoyed, exasperated, frustrated – call it what you will – with waiting for all the things lately. Waiting for Nana to finish the drink. Waiting for Nana to eat the snack. Waiting for Nana to swallow the laxative pill. Waiting for Nana to wake up. Waiting for Nana to stand up. Waiting for Nana to urinate. Waiting for Nana to defecate. Waiting for Nana’s brain to process just about anything before she actually does the thing, if she even does.

In the meantime, Nana is patiently waiting to die. I consider the level of patience this must require … the amount of strength, courage, and grace … the endless list of other personal character traits cultivated over a lifetime. It’s all beyond my ability to measure or comprehend, as I guess it is for any of us until we are actually leaning into dying ourselves.

Even with her consciousness faltering so, Nana is somehow aware and acknowledging her transition from this life. I imagine what this entails … after 94 good years on this Earth … unsure of what comes next, or when … and without a single strategic step to be taken that could alter the outcome. Though I am entirely clear that love always disappears fear, believe in karma and dharma myself, and have faith that Nana’s own beliefs will carry her safely onward, it is impossible to know the weight of this great wait.

Any and all preceding waiting, then, becomes the practice. Every day presents opportunities to fortify that great virtue of patience by refining our own skill. If we are willing to explore how we are being while waiting the waits day-in and day-out, then recalibrate, we can endure the seemingly major but relatively minor irritations with increasing ease and become more efficient at bearing the weight of living. So, when we get to dying, we are ready.