A Late Memorial Day Prayer:

For Those Who Give Care

Jun 03, 2023

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There is no place to plant a flag in the ground, 
nowhere to lay flowers, no band or parade 
for you. There are no banners, no special month 
or day for those who care for others. So today, 
I build you a monument of gratitude.

I honor you, the one who gently holds the hand 
of a loved one, their memory and mind fading. 
Who navigates appointments, sorts paperwork, 
guides choices. You, who visit ghosts, endlessly 
insisting on attention, demanding basic dignities, 
while slowly, painfully letting go, saying goodbye.

I honor you, the one who pleads with partners 
or parents or children or friends to seek care, 
help, treatment. Who forgives lies, finds hidden 
evidence, rips yourself open to change the things 
you can and accept what you cannot, who prays
to understand, for safety, for relief, for recovery. 

I honor you, the one who watches and monitors, 
with grief and horror, as a loved one spirals, 
cycles, descends, disappears. Who tracks 
patterns, attempts conversations, stages 
interventions. Who spends sleepless nights 
researching options, investigating, making calls, 
managing lives and bills and meds, never 
giving up hope for stasis, for breakthroughs.

I honor you, the one who patiently cares 
for those who cannot cope, overwhelmed, 
overloaded, who need accommodation, calm 
and empathy in an impatient and unforgiving 
world.  Who tries, unceasingly, through anxiety, 
depression, defiance, and discomfort to bring 
comfort and solutions, day after day, not knowing 
the answers, but loving nonetheless. 

I honor you, the one who lives with loved ones 
in pain, inoperable or uncurable, who cannot 
or will not heal, those who need space and time 
to process the unknown, to make peace with what
is known and frightening, who are on an uncertain 
journey. You, who must draw on a well of infinite 
patience for those who resist help, who lash out. 
You, who must accept your own limitations, 
what you cannot fix and who you cannot save. 

I honor you, those who check in on loved ones 
and neighbors, just a call or a visit to be sure 
there are groceries, heat or air conditioning,
that medication has been taken, proof of life. 
You who help with mail and bills, an errand here 
or there, with shoveling and mowing, with rides 
to the doctor or the store, a simple greeting.

You may give care out of love. You may serve 
others out of duty or obligation. You may hope
for acknowledgement or approval where there 
is none. There may be resentment, anger, cruelty, 
blank stares. Some days you may ask yourself 
why you persist. Some days you are exhausted, 
frustrated, feeling alone, used, misunderstood.  

But other days you are filled with gratitude,
honored to be of service, to help, to hold 
that hand for just one moment. You give 
because you know that your labor, compassion
or even the smallest action or glance can make 
a difference, large or small, that your consideration
has evoked a smile, a fleeting respite from pain, 
some comfort, a moment of happiness. If not 
for others, your love has radiated inward, healing 
your own heart with the balm of kindness, giving 
you hope for the future, mercy for yourself.

This is my homage to you: A page of words, 
nothing permanent or etched in stone, no shining 
medal to place on your wall, a Memorial Day,
the smallest monument of thanks.