“The sickness of a family member, a friend or a neighbor is a call to Christians to demonstrate true compassion, that gentle and persevering sharing in another’s pain.” Pope St. John Paul II

Today God spoke to me in the supermarket.

You know what I mean; the whisperings, the nudge, the tap on the shoulder, the almost imperceptible sigh before snapping us into awareness. It happens for me when I begin to get overwhelmed with a crisis. Today was one of those days of feeling exhausted, frustrated and on the brink of tears.

As I waited in the check-out line, I paid little attention to the senior couple in front of me, until I got “the nudge.” I looked closer at their basket and suddenly remembered a lesson from many years ago; different supermarket, different crisis.

Then, as now, there was a senior couple in front of me with two bags of disposable children’s diapers in their basket.  From the size and the color I guessed they had two grandchildren, an infant boy and toddler girl. I was reminded how often my dad used to take my mom shopping for the same diapers when my sons were small. I cried.

When I turned back to my own basket, I was struck by the two six-packs of Ensure I was planning to buy. The supplemental drink was for my mom, who I brought home to live with me in the weeks after my dad’s unexpected death.  She was terminally ill. At that time, the only diapers I was concerned with were the adult diapers delivered to my home once a week.

At that time, I realized I had become part of the sandwich generation, a group of people who have assumed responsibility for their ill or aging parents, in addition to the responsibilities of their growing families.

Anyone who has raised children will attest to the often overwhelming burden of responsibility and challenges it entails. Add to that the unique requirements and demands of caring for a parent, often while maintaining a job, and you have a situation that is potentially insurmountable.

Even with the support of family and friends who offer to be chauffeur, cook, babysitter and counselor, the emotional burden cannot really be shared. The pain, the built, the grief and the loss – anticipated or real – are yours alone.

After months of struggling to hold it all together, and fending off a depression that was overtaking me after the death of my father.  God snuck up on me in the supermarket, suggesting gently, “You need an attitude adjustment. Change the burden into a blessing.”

My initial reaction was, “Oh, sure, easy for you to say.”

But when I went back to work, I really read the serenity prayer hanging over my desk, and acknowledged that when weariness takes over, and our struggles become the all-consuming issue in our lives, we sometimes forget about God and the unique ways in which he touches our lives.

I began to accept that I had been blessed with the opportunity to give back to my mother, in every way, the love, the support, the time, the tears, the laughter, that she expended willingly in raising. No, it was not easy. Yes, I got tired and angry and frustrated, especially as I tried to cope with doctors, insurance companies, medical bills and government offices.

For a while, my family had to take second place, but they shared in the blessing, as well. My sons survived the neglect, and became better men for the care they had to provide their grandmother when I was not there.  They came to understand that illness and death are part of life to be dealt with, not hidden away for their own emotional comfort.

Hopefully, the came to an understanding, as well, that they share in the cross Jesus bore to Calvary, a cross he carried willingly for the sake of others.

They have also learned, maybe a bit more grudgingly, that being part of a family requires giving as much as taking. My seven and nine year olds, at the time, joined the ranks of their older brothers who did their own laundry. The 12-year-old learned to bake a mean cake and cook a very unusual spaghetti sauce. I hired my 17-year-old, for a very reasonable sum, to clean house and serve as project coordinator for household chores.

Things did not always run smoothly. There was fighting, bickering, yelling, poking and prodding – not unusual for six brothers. Things were not always as I wished them to be, but that’s not a bad lesson for children to learn early on. What we did have was an understanding that we were a family, one that included a grandmother who needed our care; a family that would continue to grow in love as long as it continued to love.

Today, with my lesson back in place, I will try once again to change my attitude about this newest challenge and turn the burden into a blessing. But I think I’m going to stay out the supermarket for a while. One lesson at a time is enough for me. I am getting older, after all.