The best caregiver support may come with terrible coffee

The election is over. People will spend weeks picking apart the results. Meanwhile, family caregivers are sorting medications, helping someone get dressed, and having late-night conversations with the ceiling fan.

November is National Family Caregivers Month. As the holidays approach, expectations pile up even when a caregiver’s strength is running low.

If you’re a caregiver who’s frazzled, stressed, heartbroken, or weary, you’re in the right place.

You can be surrounded by people who love you and still feel lonely. I often tell pastors that caregivers can feel lonely on a crowded pew.

Family caregivers know what it means to disappear into someone else’s story. People ask how your loved one is doing. You explain the latest procedure or what the doctor said. Somewhere in the conversation, what you’re carrying disappears beneath the details of the person you’re caring for.

When I started this column for Blaze, I wanted caregivers to find a little respite and something solid to stand on while they caught their breath. Whatever else I write about, I keep coming back to the caregiver who wonders whether anyone understands.

That’s also why I started a caregiver group at our church here in Montana.

Every Thursday morning, we gather around a table. First-timers sometimes arrive nervous, sometimes already teary-eyed. Walking into a room of strangers to talk about caring for someone you love takes courage.

The church has committed to keeping us supplied with tissues.

The pastor or his assistant sometimes has coffee waiting. When neither is there, that responsibility falls to me.

I’m accustomed to making coffee for Gracie. She likes coffee that reaches out and slaps you. Most attendees have learned to politely decline when I’m handling the brewing.

One fellow brought a tin of cookies from Costco. We’ve made a sizable dent in them.

Well, let’s be honest. I’ve made a sizable dent. I keep passing the tin around, but somehow it makes its way back to me. I need to be careful, or I’ll get so big the bears will have to start hiding their food.

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We go around the table and check in. Sometimes the circumstances are dire, and the tissues get passed along with the cookies. Sometimes we talk about ordinary things. Even amid the tears, laughter has surprised us at every meeting.

You see, each of us speaks fluent caregiver. Nobody needs a lengthy explanation of why someone is exhausted, frightened, or struggling to make one more decision. We recognize the language because we live it.

This week, one man whose wife lives with dementia told us he can no longer have a rational conversation with her. Around our table, he said, he felt heard for the first time in a long time.

How many more caregivers feel the same way he does?

Sometimes, speaking fluent caregiver sounds like this: “Pull up a chair. Have a cookie. Or three. Sign this waiver before drinking the coffee.”

I can’t offer bad coffee and a tin of cookies to readers. You’ll have to supply your own tissues. If you run out, use toilet paper. We’ve all done it.

But I can bring four decades of caring for someone I love to this page. I can speak honestly about the weariness, the fear, the resentment we’re reluctant to admit, and the laughter that still catches us by surprise.

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I can also remind you of something I regularly need to hear myself: You don’t have to feel better in order to be better.

Making your own doctor’s appointment, accepting help, or sitting with people who understand can be a good decision even when you still feel worn out afterward.

If you’re struggling to find the words to say to a caregiver, try these: “I see you, and I see the magnitude of what you’re carrying, and I hurt with you.”

If tears come, you don’t have to find something profound to say. Stay and listen.

If you’re a caregiver who’s frazzled, stressed, heartbroken, or weary, you’re in the right place. Tell me how you’re doing in the comments. I try to read them all and respond when I can.

If you’re none of those things, you’re still in the right place. Because if you love someone, you’ll most likely become a caregiver.

If you live long enough, you’ll need one.

Friends don’t let friends caregive alone.