{"id":22238,"date":"2026-03-11T12:38:42","date_gmt":"2026-03-11T12:38:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/uncategorized\/more-than-love-alone\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T06:13:48","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T06:13:48","slug":"more-than-love-alone","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/positive-living\/health-and-wellness\/caregiving\/hope-and-inspiration\/stories-of-hope-for-caregivers\/more-than-love-alone\/","title":{"rendered":"More Than Love Alone"},"content":{"rendered":"

Everything was coming together for me. I\u2019d landed my dream job, covering the White House for the Christian Broadcasting Network. I\u2019d found a great apartment in suburban Virginia and took the train to work, an hour and a half commute each way. But I didn\u2019t mind. To me that was a mark of success, proof that all those years of hard work had paid off.<\/p>\n

Best of all was the present I got that October, 2008, when my boyfriend, Michael, flew in from Texas for my twenty-eighth birthday. That night on the National Mall he asked me to spend the rest of my life with him. \u201cYes!\u201d <\/em>I screamed and threw my arms around him. Nothing had ever felt so right.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t wait to tell my family. They were happy, of course\u2014they loved Michael. But there was a shadow of hesitation in their voices. \u201cAre you certain about this?\u201d my mother asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, don\u2019t worry,\u201d I told her. I had, in fact, given it a lot of thought. Prayed about whether Michael was the one. It wasn\u2019t something we\u2019d rushed into. We\u2019d known each other for eight years.<\/p>\n

Not that I didn\u2019t understand what my mother was concerned about. Michael is a quadriplegic, able to move his biceps, but otherwise paralyzed from the neck down, the result of a high school gymnastics accident. But when I looked at Michael I didn\u2019t see the man they saw. I saw a vibrant, upbeat, can-do kind of guy.<\/p>\n

He was 31, studying web design online. He\u2019d lived on his own for years in Texas with the help of aides. There were things I\u2019d need to do to care for him, of course, like helping him into his wheelchair in the mornings. But I could do that. I wanted to.<\/p>\n

Caring for Michael was an act of love, the true measure of how much he meant to me. I persuaded him that we wouldn\u2019t need aides once we were married. I didn\u2019t want strangers in our bedroom. I didn\u2019t want anyone coming between Michael and me, intruding into our personal space. He wouldn\u2019t need aides when he had me.<\/p>\n

I clung to that idea for the first year of our marriage. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. five days a week to get myself ready for work and see to Michael\u2014bathing him, dressing him, lifting him into his wheelchair. Then at night doing it all again, only in reverse.<\/p>\n

I kept telling myself it would get easier, but I was losing weight; my hair had started to fall out from the stress. That winter, when the alarm went off, it was all I could do to crawl out of bed. One day I almost didn\u2019t. I felt awful\u2014achy, my throat scratchy. But I couldn\u2019t call in sick. I had to get to work. And who would care for Michael but me?<\/p>\n

Read More: Tips for Caregivers to Care of Themselves<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

I felt my way to the bathroom and took a shower, then went to the kitchen and made coffee and lunches for Michael and me. Michael couldn\u2019t grip anything but he could use silverware and pick things up with the help of a leather strap that attached to his arm.<\/p>\n

Back to the bedroom. Three-forty-five a.m. Already running late. I had to be at work by seven. I turned on the light and gently stroked Michael\u2019s face. \u201cC\u2019mon, honey, it\u2019s time to wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wrapped my arms around him and slowly raised him to a sitting position. Got a washcloth and washed his chest and back. Then laid him back down. Went to the bathroom and drained his urine bag. Came back and wriggled his underwear on. Stretched his arms up and down, from side to side, exercises critical for strength and flexibility. Finally, I put his pants on.<\/p>\n

It was time to transfer him to his wheelchair. I put a gait belt, especially made for lifting, around his waist, then put my arms around the small of his back and grabbed hold of the belt. Michael rested his arms against my chest and slowly, using every muscle in my body, I lifted him into his wheelchair. Ooomph! <\/em>All I could think about was how good it would feel just to fall back into bed.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cHoney, can you adjust my pants a little? They\u2019re bunching up in back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Why did he feel the need to tell me this every time? Like I didn\u2019t know. \u201cYes, of course,\u201d I said, trying not to sound irritated. I took him to the bathroom, washed his hair. Finished dressing him. Wolfed down some instant oatmeal, the same breakfast I made for Michael. Dried my hair. Did my makeup. Kissed Michael goodbye and was out the door. Five-thirty.<\/p>\n

Heading into D.C. I stared out the window, the world a passing blur. Exactly how I felt about my life. Before we were married, the thing I\u2019d looked forward to most was telling Michael everything about my day. He\u2019d always been there for me, even before we fell in love, the one constant in a demanding life.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d graduated from college in three years. Worked in four different cities in seven years. He\u2019d seen me through some awful breakups. Difficult bosses. Empty, lonely apartments. His faith, the way he never seemed to get down, gave me reassurance when I needed it, sometimes desperately.<\/p>\n

We\u2019d met in 1999, when I was in college, on a mission trip to Florida. Back home our occasional calls had grown more frequent until we were talking every day. It was his mind\u2014his intellect, his goofy sense of humor\u2014I first fell for, though it wasn\u2019t like I could ever forget that face, those deep blue eyes.<\/p>\n

It was 2006 when we got together in person again. I\u2019d broken up with the guy I was dating. I needed to know if Michael and I could ever be more than just friends. I\u2019d flown to Texas for a week. He\u2019d shown me how to connect to his hand the strap he used to eat with.<\/p>\n

In a way that moment felt as beautiful, as intimate, as our first kiss. I loved how open, how unafraid he was about everything. On our last day together we held each other for what seemed like forever. I didn\u2019t want to ever let him go.<\/p>\n

And now, now that we were married, it seemed like we never cuddled. I didn\u2019t feel physically married. I\u2019d even begun to resent how, in bed, I had to be the one who lifted Michael\u2019s arm to put it around me. Lately that was more than I could do. Too exhausted. Instead, when I was sure Michael was asleep, I\u2019d bury my head in my pillow and cry.<\/p>\n

We almost never went out, besides going to church. We didn\u2019t have the money to buy a van with a wheelchair lift, and I didn\u2019t have the strength to transfer Michael into my SUV. At least not very often. The more I cared for Michael the worse I felt, as though the effort was stripping away my feelings.<\/p>\n

I thought caring for him would be an act of love. And I did love him. I was simply devastated that my love wasn\u2019t enough. I\u2019d thought it would be all I\u2019d need. I even found myself snapping at him\u2014like about his bunched pants\u2014and instantly rebuked myself. Who was I to be cross? I had the use of my arms and legs.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to be a burden to you,\u201d Michael had been telling me more and more. \u201cWe could hire an aide, take some of the pressure off of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, honey, you\u2019re not a burden,\u201d I\u2019d respond. \u201cI love you. I want to take care of you.\u201d But more and more, I felt like I was failing him. Failing at the thing that was most important to me.<\/p>\n

My head was pounding as the train pulled into the station. My work as a reporter was the one thing I felt good about. A refuge\u2014where people knew me as a professional and not an inept caregiver. But not this day. I could barely talk. I told my editor I was taking a sick day and went to the doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have strep throat,\u201d he said. He wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic. \u201cBut the best thing is to go home and rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I called Michael, but he didn\u2019t answer. Even when I called again from the drugstore. And on the train. I was dismayed. I felt almost betrayed. The one time I wanted Michael to take care of me, even if it was just to say he was sorry I was sick, he couldn\u2019t be bothered to get the phone.<\/p>\n

By the time I got to the apartment I was steaming. I opened the door to find Michael sprawled on the floor. That morning he\u2019d reached to plug in the Christmas tree lights and tumbled out of his wheelchair.<\/p>\n

I rushed to his side. I couldn\u2019t move him. I couldn\u2019t use the gait belt. It was for moving him from a bed or his wheelchair. Michael kept telling me what to do. I needed to focus, but I was growing frantic.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust shut up and let me think!\u201d I said. For the longest time neither of us said a word. Michael looked like I\u2019d slapped him and I couldn\u2019t imagine feeling much worse if I had.<\/p>\n

Finally Michael spoke. His voice was quiet. And deliberate. \u201cI have an idea,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat if we piled up the couch cushions…\u201d<\/p>\n

We could make a kind of ramp we could use to get him onto the couch and from there into his chair. When at last, after many failed attempts, I was able to do it, I was spent. Completely and utterly drained.<\/p>\n

I went to the bathroom and collapsed onto the cold floor, sobbing. \u201cI can\u2019t do this,\u201d I cried. \u201cI need help. Please, God, I can\u2019t do this on my own.\u201d<\/p>\n

If anyone was ever convicted by her own words, it was me. I can\u2019t do this on my own. <\/em>Why did I feel like there was no one who could care for Michael but me? I\u2019d wanted to prove my love. Instead I\u2019d made caring for him into a self-defeating obsession\u2014until there was no room for anything else.<\/p>\n

No room for us just to be together, as husband and wife, to have a real relationship. No room even for…God. When was the last time I\u2019d felt his presence? Asked for his help? I was trying to be a caregiver when what my husband needed was a wife.<\/p>\n

That night I told Michael everything\u2014 how I felt as if I was a failure, that I was letting him down. There were tears in our eyes. We were in bed and I lifted his arms to embrace me. They felt strong. As if God was using them to bring us together.<\/p>\n

I was ready to accept that I needed help, that asking for help was the most loving thing I could do for my husband and our marriage. We hired an aide to come three mornings a week and get Michael ready for the day. Those three days made all the difference. Not feeling constantly under pressure helped me be a better caregiver. I got so I could do Michael\u2019s entire morning routine in about an hour, once I saw how efficient a professional was.<\/p>\n

Four years later I\u2019ve never been happier or more in love. We\u2019ve moved to Virginia Beach, where I still work in TV, but without a long commute. For fun we love going to the beach, or out for coffee in our van\u2014we finally got one, as a gift.<\/p>\n

At night I snuggle next to him while we watch TV. My favorite thing to do is anything we\u2019re doing together. Not that it\u2019s always easy. But I know where to turn for help. To a Caregiver who is always there for me, 24\/7.<\/p>\n

Download your FREE ebook, A Prayer for Every Need, by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale<\/a><\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Everything was coming together for me. I\u2019d landed my dream job, covering the White House for the Christian Broadcasting Network. I\u2019d found a great apartment in suburban Virginia and took the train to work, an hour and a half commute each way. But I didn\u2019t mind. 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