Our Allies in Caregiving

By Page Melton Ivie, chairwoman of the board, BIAA

I walked past Tommy dozens of times before I really saw him. He was a slight man, who sat out of the way in the Starbucks at our local Target store, and I’m sure for many months that I didn’t give him a second thought. In retrospect, I can see myself hurrying past, anxious to get errands done, to get back to my work. In that Target, I’m usually with, and very focused on, Robert, who in 2003 lost most of his memory from an anoxic brain injury. It was the often-overlooked Tommy who gave me a valuable lesson about caregiving.

Robert stopped me one day as I hustled past Tommy and said, “There’s my friend,” whose name he couldn’t remember. We got tea and coffee and sat down so I could meet Tommy, who spent most mornings at the Starbucks nursing a cup of coffee, waving at children, talking with their harried parents, joking with staffers. Robert knew Tommy because the facility where Robert lives takes a group to Target at least once a week. Tommy told me that he’d look out for Robert on those visits when I wasn’t there, keep him company, and make sure he got back on the bus with his group. “He can’t remember very much,” Tommy said, “so I’ve got my eye on him. He’s a gift.”

After that, our store visits included coffee for me, tea for Robert, and a visit with Tommy. He always had a compliment, and would wink and point to Robert, saying, “We have to look out for this young man, keep him out of trouble.” Tommy had introduced Robert to employees who often stopped to chat. His empathy for Robert was a beautiful thing to see and I felt like I had an ally in caregiving, knowing this unlikely friend was in it with us.

One January a few years later, we showed up to shop and found flowers at the seat where Tommy usually sat. He had died earlier that week, just shy of his 75th birthday that we had been planning to celebrate with him. The folks at Target had added the flowers, then a framed photo of Tommy, and shoppers and employees left cards and more pictures. I met Tommy’s sister a few days later and we hugged; she had come by to thank everyone for the outpouring of sympathy. I learned then that she had been providing caregiving for Tommy, and her husband had been driving Tommy to Target once he wasn’t able to get there on his own. Quietly, with little fanfare, they were providing care for someone who meant a lot to so many.

It’s been about four years since Tommy passed and there’s still a photo of him in the window of the Starbucks at our Target. We always stop and acknowledge him when we visit the store and today just about every employee knows Robert – and now they, like Tommy did, look out for him when he’s shopping.

Tommy’s life reminded me that in the sometimes-hard work of caring for someone with a brain injury — or any challenging condition — there can be moments of humor, compassion, and great joy. His life reminded me that we need to stop sometimes, have patience, revel in the unexpected, and appreciate the sense of community in caregiving that even strangers with some empathy can understand and embrace.

This National Caregiver’s Month I am thinking of all of the great caregivers I have known, and those I’ll never meet, who are doing the quiet and noble work of providing love and care for someone who needs it. I’m proud to be one of several caregivers on the BIAA board and to help BIAA highlight the contributions of our caregiving community. And to our caregivers: You are doing great work that may never get the highest recognition, but we know you are there, and are with you.