A "Safe Place"

Yesterday I spent a goodly sum on some Tylenol for Dean's pain he's been having lately. I was going to be gone for awhile in the afternoon, and was going to set the bottle of pills in a prominent place that he would see when he came home from his adult day program. (A medical-van brings him home the three days a week that he goes.)

But then I thought it wouldn't be wise to just leave him with a whole bottle of pills. I knew I'd come home and ask him if he took two of them and what time was it when he took them, and he wouldn't have a clue.

So I took out two pills, his recommended dosage, wrote a note next to them so that he would know what they were for, even telling him to write down the time that he took them on my note. Such a wonderful caregiver I was, I thought. The bottle of pills, as many things I must seclude in safe keeping around here, even got put in a "safe place".

Well, that place was so safe, I spent all evening trying to remember where I put them. The next morning, when I was hoping my head would be in a better place, I retraced my steps and suddenly remembered which casserole dish I had tucked them in, so they'd be totally out of his sight.

Guess Dean's not the only one with memory loss around here. I succumb to it every now and then too. It reminds me what it must feel like for him.

Isn't it that way with sin? We think there are lots of worse sinners out there than we are. But the truth of the matter is, none of us are beyond its reach. It catches us at the most embarrassing times, and it always has the ability to grow and take over our lives, just as it has with so many others. Thank you, Dean, for this painful, but necessary reminder of my humanity today.