The Privilege of Sharing Burdens

A couple of years after my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, he started fretting over financial matters. I lived six hours away, so I would try to reassure him by phone. However, on one of my visits, this proud, capable man sat me down and asked if I could help him pay a few bills.

I could tell the request was difficult to make, but he knew it was time. Organized as always, he had set up a card table. The bills were stacked in alternating directions along with the envelopes for mailing. Beside them, he’d put stamps, return address labels and a pen. He pulled his two checkbooks out of his shirt pocket and handed them to me, with instructions to write the checks. Then he pulled out his own pen and said he would sign them.

This was a huge moment for me, too, because it lessened my own worries. Once we had whittled down the stack, he seemed relieved. He kicked back in his recliner and took a nice long nap.

What a blessing to be allowed to do something for my parents, especially for my dad, who’d always taken care of me.