I live in the midst of paradox.  Stuck somewhere in between, although certainly closer to one end than the other. 

“Remind me where this place is?”  My dad asks me, for the third time in ten minutes.  “You are in Ohio, Dad,” I reply.  “Oh, I was thinking I was still in Canada!” he replies, shaking his head. “My silly mind!” 

I smile, but it breaks my heart.  My dad, at 90-years-old, has vascular dementia.  We’ve known for several years the likely direction this disease would take him.   Now we deal with it. Denial no longer works, especially for me, his healthcare POA.   His days are numbered.  Each time I visit him, I wonder if this might be the last time we will talk, or if he will recognize me.

At the other end of life, however, is my new granddaughter!  Born this spring she is a delight and a beauty, full of the possibilities that a new life can bring, and all that she might do and experience. 

It is truly astonishing, to be here in the middle, living with both of them simultaneously, sometimes encountering both in the same day. So many differences between the beginning and end of life, yet the similarities often strike me forcefully, especially around respect for life issues. And of course, especially now, in light of recent court decisions.

My dad moved into an assisted living facility during Covid, after my mom died. About six weeks ago we were unexpectedly informed that my father had been stopped while attempting to leave the facility at around 7:30 that morning to “look for his mom.”  This, I was informed, was not a safe situation and had to be addressed.  That very day.

The “meeting” that followed proved to be more than slightly disheartening. Quite summarily I was told that my father needed to immediately be moved into (locked into)  the memory care unit on the grounds.   In the face-to-face meeting which took place with a facility administrator in his own rooms, my dad was barely addressed or noticed.  It was left to me to explain why his bed and his clothes were being so quickly packed up, and why he was moving elsewhere. 

The lack of interest on the part of the facility as to the ramifications of this on my dad was astounding.  They ignored them all. For over a week he claimed, quite seriously, that he had been “kidnapped.”  He was miserably confused. And understandably so, for he had quite abruptly and summarily been moved away from the people, the friends, and the activities to which he had become accustomed.   

My heart ached.  It ached for him, and it continues to ache for what this implies for all of us. For almost five years I was a hospital chaplain at Good Samaritan in Dayton, a Sisters of Charity institution.  There I was repeatedly reminded that what was most important is to know that “the person in front of you, whoever they might be – staff, friend, patient – is the face of Christ in this moment.  REMEMBER THIS!”  But now, in what was supposedly another nominally Catholic/Christian institution, the “face of Christ” no longer seemed to exist.  My father is instead just another 90-year-old with dementia, one who has become a liability to this institution and, it seems, to society.  One who no longer apparently matters or deserves respect.

This breaks my heart.  Where is the love?  The respect for a life well-lived and wisdom won? The dignity with which our faith calls us to treat each other? 

And what about my baby granddaughter?  Right now she is cute and darling, and garners all kinds of attention simply for that reason.  We all love a baby, right?  She represents new life after all, new possibilities and hopes for all of us!

But, I wonder, for how long will people coo over her?  By the time she is twelve, or forty or sixty, will anyone continue to look for Christ in her?  For how long will HER life be respected? Will they bother to see that she is indeed a beautiful work of God? 

I certainly hope so, but I wonder. And my heart continues to hurt for both my father and that baby girl – and for each of us, here in the middle.

So I beg you to reflect on this. What are we doing? Is this really how we want our one sweet life to be lived? To end?

Know that I try very hard to see the Christ in you. And I ask you to look for it in the other – whatever their age or ability. Remember, they are sacred creatures; God is there. Acknowledge this and tread gently, with great respect.