On choosing to be where I didn't want to be

A few months ago I signed up to take part in what I might call a spiritual support group -- a group of people who gather to support each other in their spiritual journeys. The first gathering of the group was to be a half-day retreat on sabbath time yesterday. I was very much looking forward to it, as a time to meet other spiritual seekers and to nurture myself. I felt I really needed it.

Then, two days before the retreat, my brother asked me to help move our father into a residence for people with memory loss. I'd known the move was coming -- had visited the two residences that had been recommended to my brother -- and certainly have known for some time that Dad had dementia. But the move had to coincide with this day I'd been looking forward to and promising myself, when I was going to give myself a little extra care.

There was nothing for it. It simply had to be then. My brother had arranged to borrow his neighbor's truck, and he wasn't going to be available the next weekend to do the move. When I mentioned I had something else planned, he told me he and my sister-in-law and nephew could probably manage without me. But I knew he wanted my support, as much as my help in packing up Dad's clothes and driving them the few miles to the new residence.

My brother has done so much to take care of our father, largely because he was the one who lived closest. No one could have been more devoted, more tireless, taking Dad to every doctor's appointment, taking calls from the assisted living facility where Dad lived, making this arrangement and that arrangement, having Dad over to his house, taking Dad to get a haircut. If children owe an enormous debt to their parents for nurturing and caring for them until they are grown, my brother has paid back a very large share of his debt through the care he has given Dad.

And then there's Dad himself. There aren't adequate words for his kindness, his love and support, given to me and my brothers over the years. Now he has virtually no short-term memory, but he knows enough to know that his life stinks without my mother, who died two years ago. He also remembers a frightening number of old baseball scores, and a staggering amount of English literature, which he taught for 30-odd years.

So I went. I helped pack some of Dad's clothes and drove them to the new place. I talked to Dad about why he was there and what I thought might be good about it (he will get more help with activities of daily living, and there are at least a few people there who are nearly as intellectually intact as he is), and stood by my brother to take my share of the blame for the decision to move Dad to this new and frightening place.

It is terrifying and sad to see my father, on whom I have relied for nearly all of my life for moral and emotional support, for a certain kind of steadiness, for humor, for love, become another person, one who sometimes resembles the father I knew and sometimes seems like a cruel caricature of him. It seems so unfair that on top of all of the losses that go along with old age, his disease has robbed him of his dignity as well.

I love him. So, even though I didn't want -- for a range of reasons -- to be there yesterday, I'm glad I was. Perhaps that's what growing up is all about.

A film about the power of compassion

Last night I saw a movie that, for the first time, gave me a sense of hope about Americans' response to the Sept. 11, 2001, tragedy. In general, I think we as a nation have failed to meet the challenge of that day to broaden our understanding of people in other cultures and to cultivate compassion.

But last night my church showed the film "Beyond Belief," directed by Beth Murphy. It tells the story of two Wellesley, Mass., women, Susan Retik and Patti Quigley, both of whom lost their husbands when the planes flew into the World Trade Center towers. Both women happened to be pregnant at the time, and through friends they met each other and had an immediate sense of connection. From supporting each other, they soon moved to wanting to help other widows -- in Afghanistan.

They started with an idea that they could each help one widow in Afghanistan, which has thousands of widows, because it has been at war for 23 years. It wasn't long before they realized that because Afghanistan is such a poor country, their money would go far enough to help many more than just two widows. Then they decided to have a fundraiser on the anniversary of 9/11 where Susan, Patti and others would ride bicycles from Ground Zero to Boston. The first event raised $100,000, and they were off and running.

They made a grant to a CARE program to give chickens and incubators to Afghan widows so they could have an income, as well as having some eggs for their own table. Most of these women were the sole providers for their children.

Eventually the pair visited Afghanistan to meet some of the women they had helped. It took them a few years to be ready to make this trip, both because of the dangerous conditions there and because, since they were single parents, they were reluctant to take the risk that they might not return. Finally, they were both ready to go, and the connection they made with the Afghan women (through an interpreter) was very moving. It was touching to hear one of the Afghan women said the Taliban was bad for what it had done to Americans and that "God will punish them four times more." Of course, the Taliban has been no friend at all to women, least of all to women not attached to a man.

All in all, the film was hopeful and inspiring, a real testament to the power of compassion and human connection. I can't imagine anyone not being deeply affected by it.

By the way, Susan and Patti started a nonprofit called "Beyond the 11th" if you want to support their efforts.