Finding Jace: A caregiver and a friend

In my last story, I talked about finding a caregiver for Robert. Today I’ll introduce you to the caregiver I found.

Jace is a large, ebullient man. He stands 6’ tall and weighs in at about 220 lbs. He has a wide friendly, clean-shaven face with cheeks that explode into plums when he smiles. When we first met I was in “manager mode,” direct and business-like. I hardly connected with Jace, the person, at all.

The interview

“Did the family you worked for live in the same house as the man you cared for?”

“What about weekend work?” 

“Did you run errands with the man you cared for?”

“Can I call them for a reference?”

“What will they say about you?”

Honestly, it’s a wonder Jace stuck around for a second meeting. Perhaps he’d become inured to people like me. Or he understood that my tone was a common posture in the face of an overwhelming illness. Perhaps he understood that I could only see the path that lay before us as discrete chores to be completed, the entire calamity of it was too much to fathom in one go. Tasks and schedules, those I could wrap my head around. A progressive, life-ending illness that required flexibility, not so much.

Caring for another

Caring for another human being is not just a task to be completed, it’s a turbulent flow you fold yourself into, a river you let sweep you along. Jace could simply be with Robert. He found joy in the inanities that brought a smile to Robert’s face. He cradled and safeguarded Robert’s humanity at a time when I could not. All I could see were the things that were broken, what needed fixing, but Jace let each day unfold without striving. 

I’m reminded of a vacation we took to the Caribbean years earlier. Maddie was 13 and Jackson just 3. My father had invited the extended family on the holiday including my sisters, their husbands, and our nieces and nephews. In preparation for the trip, I packed a huge suitcase with clothes for an army, games, electronic toys, and puzzles of all kinds. We never used any of it. The beaches of St. John and each other’s company were all we needed. 

Hiring Jace was like that beach vacation. Jace brought his presence and attention. I brought the baggage.

Sharing hopes and dreams

Jace was interested and engaged in the world around him. He was enrolled in the agricultural business program at our local Junior College. His plan was to one day return to his native Fiji to cultivate a particular botanical that was in high demand for cosmetics and very expensive. He brought all that enthusiasm and aspiration to his time with Robert. They talked about their lives, hopes, and dreams. 

Everyday adventures

Every weekday Jace arrived promptly at 10am. After helping Robert dress they would head to the grocery store to buy the candy bar that Robert needed to get through the morning. (Of course, sometimes they bought two. ”One for today and one for tomorrow.” Tomorrow’s candy bar never made it home.) Candy consumed, their chocolate-infused day could begin. 

Jace drove Robert all over Sonoma County on adventures. Sometimes they drove to the ocean and watched the waves break for hours. Other days, they visited friends of Jace’s from work or school. They’d have lunch out, usually hamburgers and fries, before they’d head home for Robert’s mid-afternoon nap.

Friends…for real

They became friends. Here’s the thing: When you are open to people as they are, when you let their special light shine without expectation or judgment your heart is free to love them. At Christmas, Jace gifted Robert with a baseball cap and a sleek, soft jacket emblazoned with the symbol of the University of Texas, Robert’s alma mater. He had to order the gifts online in time for the holiday. He cared.

A truck comes between us

After seven months of caring for Robert, Jace bought a truck to replace his worn sedan. The truck was long-wished-for and a testament to his success in the US. He had special ordered it and he’d waited six months for its delivery. Unfortunately, Robert could not easily lift himself into the truck. Their exploits across the county became more difficult.

One day I came home to find Robert sidled up to the passenger seat with one foot in the door and the other supporting his weight on the sidewalk. He had been in this position for over 40 minutes, unable to seat himself in the truck. I helped Jace wrangle Robert into the passenger seat but decided then and there that this was not a struggle I wanted Robert to endure each day.

Coincident with the arrival of the truck, I started to feel that I needed to look at other options for Robert’s care. I was falling behind. Between the daily laundry of pee-soaked towels and bedclothes, ongoing meal preparations, and COVID-induced work pressures, I was losing my focus. The caregiving arrangement with Jace came to an end.

A big loss

Robert missed Jace. He had really enjoyed their time together. He asked several times when Jace would come to visit. I always responded, “Jace had to get a job, so he’s not free to visit during the day anymore.” After a few weeks, Robert stopped asking. There are so few bright spots in the course of this disease. Losses pile up. I have never fully forgiven myself for taking Jace away from Robert. 

People who are true caregivers develop relationships with the people they care for. They learn what foods they like, what activities bring them joy, and what causes them anxiety. If I could interview him all over again, I’d ask Jace a different set of questions about Bill, the man he cared for before he came to us.

“What did Bill most like to do?

“Were there special places you visited together?”

“What was Bill’s favorite food?”

Jace worked for Bill and his family for seven years until Bill died of complications related to dementia.

That was really all I needed to know.