Like my friend Rosa, I am revisiting the question of God in all things, that Ignatian principle some of us were writing about yesterday. For Rosa, a homeless woman. For me, three men. Five men. Mothers. A father. Caregivers.
Three of the men are connected to my church and have been in the hospital this past week; one of them has escaped to a rehab facility. The primary caregivers for all of these men, in their forties, fifties, and sixties, are parents ~ not spouses or partners or children ~ which tells you some things about the curve balls life has tossed their way. One of the men is massively disabled as the result of a car accident thirty years ago when he was sixteen and was, I learned yesterday, in possession of a Congressional nomination to Annapolis.
Thirty years his parents have cared for his every need. Thirty eff-ing years.
He is seriously ill, in intensive care, and today his two housemates from his group home, along with a caregiver for each, came to visit him. It was decided that his condition was such that they should await another day, but when I left they were still there. I know nothing about the story of either of them, but they are not permitted to be without one of their caregivers, even in a hospital waiting room, as I learned when I offered to stay with them awhile.
Sometimes I will come across a blog post, or an essay, in which the writer confidently and carelessly remarks upon the rewards in store for those who parent young adults, the pleasures of daughters and sons-in-law, of grandchildren, of presiding over an extended family of multiple generations.
Me? I am working on that concept of God in all things.