Carry the Torch: Caring for Strangers Is a Legacy to Pass On

Post #14

In the 1980’s I worked with displaced families and individuals from Central America, most of whom were fleeing violence. Yet the word “worked” in this sense doesn’t capture the reality of the situation. I “connected with” and “lived beside” and “loved” is a much better description. In fact, although the duration of my time with them was often short-lived, I have begun to hear from a few of the people on a regular basis. (Social media is especially helpful for making contact with those you thought you’d never hear from again.)

I will always remember the four years of caring for displaced Central Americans as a time of heart fellowship. There were many problems, of course, but we shared the same heart-beat—they cared for me even as I was trying to find ways to meet their needs. Although I'd been given the title “Hermana Terri,” I had taken on a mothering role in our community. And my mothering heart loved them all deeply—well, most of them. (There were one or two who made life difficult for all of us.) Unfortunately, my health issues began, and I lost the energy to be a 24-hour mother to many people. I had to withdraw and rest and focus on being a 24-hour mother to my three children.

Now I know that the problem I experienced was connected to being an HSP who needed less stimulation and more quiet time , but it's been less than a year since I understood that trait. (see my blog posts on the highly sensitive person.) All I understood at the time was that I'd lost the ability to function in my normal manner. Later I attempted to put this experience into poetry:

Suddenly

It was over.

My nerves popped like snapped gum

My stomach grew mangled with the cares

of too many obstacles.

Abruptly

I sent you away to find new heart

Companions, those whose ulcers

remained unseen.

Exhausted,

I fell onto my couch

And slept for hours

and years.

Never

Waking to your pleas for refuge

Dreaming only of health and friendship.

Still dreaming now.

(published in Now and Then, 2008)

Since then life has been filled with many caregiving situations, but none as intense or rewarding as seeing strangers who have nothing begin to find new lives. The intensity of emotion and energy is what has kept me from returning to that lifestyle. For a long time I guarded my heart from remembering how much I loved these people. I only realized the strength of this love as I began to put my experience into poetry fifteen years later. At that time I didn’t return to this type of caregiving because I had remarried, and was involved in teaching ESL and caring for my grandchildren. A few years later my mother needed 24/7 care. Life moves on. . .

And yet . . .while the Central American people I knew have also moved on into new, productive lives, there continues to be a stream of displaced people coming into the U.S. This migration is not new, but last year the reality of what it means to be alone in a strange location stung my heart again as the separation of parents and children hit the headlines. My heart cried. I had seen the pain of separation before when it sometimes happened accidentally or overnight (see the poem in my blog post on Jan 29, 2020, The Caregiver's Empty Nest Syndrome and Anxiety: Don't Suppress—Express).

My mothering heart had been reawakened. I longed to get a job taking care of the children until they could be with their parents—or at least to visit them, give them a hug, and cover them with a blanket and a song. But no one was allowed to give this type of comfort, not even necessities could be given in this scenario. This was an occasion where the best caregiving had to come from other methods, such as publicity, protests, and prayer.

Unfortunately, all of this occurred (and is still occurring) at a time when my caregiving is now focused on my own health condition. As much as I would like to return to the border and be a part of caring for “strangers” who come to our country in great need, I have to admit that I’m no longer physically or emotionally capable. I would like to be a part of caravans who visit and bring supplies or people who march to demand justice, but it’s no longer possible.

My writing about caregiving is born from my own weakened condition that enables me to do little else. I began this blog because of my deep concern for the displaced, the disabled, the elderly, and children, as well as anyone else who needs a caregiver. I know there are many of you out there who give your lives to care for others. Caregiving is difficult and rewarding. Keep up the good work you are doing . . . give your strength and your heart to those who need you for as long as you are able. And when it’s time to rest, don’t forget to encourage those who will carry the caregiving torch onward.