I moved again last week. This is the fourth time within the past year and a half.
In early March last year, my wife and I moved back to Virginia Beach from Columbia, South Carolina. Nanay, my wife’s grandmother, had fallen and been hospitalized. When we arrived, she had been discharged into a rehabilitation facility.
All day, Nanay stayed in bed, watching American TV she didn’t understand, confused about where she was, and not getting any better. The family thought it best to take her home and care for her themselves.
We stayed with her, fed her, changed her, moved her in bed. We helped Nanay the best we could and supported those who cared for her. Eight months later, we left for Southeast Asia.
When we came home, we moved to Oregon. Nanay was still alive—still is—and bedbound. A few months later, we found ourselves in a similar situation as when we were in South Carolina.
My grandma wanted us to live with her. She had fallen, as well, twice, but remained fiercely independent. Cooped up alone in her house all day, with the exception of her two dogs and three televisions, more than anything, she needed someone to talk to.
After three months with my grandma, to achieve some independence, we moved again last week.
On both occasions, we were at a point where we wanted to leave where we were and go where we were needed. Tied to that, coming from South Carolina, there was a desire to be home, and from Oregon, a desire to settle. Regardless of the fact that we got something out of it, when each grandmother was in need, we showed up.
Though it satisfied our personal desires, we moved because we believed it was the right thing to do. Nevertheless, leaving felt selfish, like we hadn’t seen through what we had started.
The truth of the matter is that neither one of our grandmothers truly needed us, in the sense that both could get along without us being there (they both have their own children). We never needed to go, even though they were in need.
We moved back because it was the decent thing to do, to help them, to be there for them, but their need was about the same when we left as when we got there. If it was right to go help them, was it wrong to leave?
It’s good to be on our own again. This is going to be great for us. We will thrive here. But is it selfish? Was it selfish to move?
On some level, it was. We were making decisions on what was best for us. But there is another level here: husband and wife doing what’s best for each other.
There are degrees of giving yourself to others, which revolve around responsibility. Spouses’ primary responsibility is to each other. From there, they can branch out to grandmothers (or children, or dogs, etc.).
Perhaps there is selfishness in most things, for the ultimate selflessness is sacrifice, but we all work within the constraints of our existence and our varying abilities to do what is right. No one can give all of themselves all of the time, but nothing is truer than this: giving yourself to others, even for a time, is the most important work you can do in life.
Onward and upward,
Lee
