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A Life’s Worth

A LIFE’S WORTH

My mother is 93 years old. She is cheerful, content and comfortable. Dementia has robbed her of the ability to remember what she had for lunch, the names of my children or what I do for a living. We have conversations where she might ask the same question several times. She won’t remember the answer and I’ll hear the question again during our next call. Eventually, soon, she won’t remember me.

Her caregivers adore my mother. They take the time to chat with her because she is gentle, amiable and has a pretty good sense of humor. Taking care of her is not challenging for them, although Mother is weak and requires assistance to meet her basic needs.

For the past several years my job has involved providing care for children with severe disabilities. Few of them will ever be able to live independently; many have both intellectual and physical disabilities. One of the children, Feiguo, spends his day in bed, his body severely constrained by cerebral palsy. Feiguo has the brightest, most contagious smile I have ever seen. His caregivers adore him. They linger by his bedside, stroking his head and chatting, even though Feiguo is not capable of verbalizing words anymore. Taking care of him is not challenging for them, although he can barely move and requires assistance to meet his basic needs.

In a world where people are judged by their abilities and accomplishments, what is the value of those who possess few abilities and don’t accomplish anything? Those who are fading from life and those who never really had a chance? It is costly to provide services to these people: an investment with no quantifiable return. In China, where Feiguo lives, citizens are exhorted to contribute to the greater good and the race for prosperity motivates millions. In the United States, where my mother lives, youth is celebrated, along with success. Both societies recognize and accept the fact that people like Feiguo and my mother must be cared for. Often this is seen as more of an obligation than an opportunity.

The word ‘care’ has two entwined meanings. One refers to an action and implies that the recipient requires someone to look after them and meet their needs. The other is an emotion. It is a response, not a judgement. When we measure people by their productivity or their ability to function in society, people with severe disabilities can be viewed the way banks view non-performing loans: not as an asset, but a net loss.   

Are the elderly people sequestered in an “assisted living home” contributing anything? Do severely disabled children have value? If the metric you use to answer these questions is based on their ability to love and be loved, then I claim they have at least as much value as selfish strivers in either society who don’t value the act of caring. The worth of a young man confined to a bed, yet smiling serenely at those who see him each day, is not based on what he can do. His value was established when he was born. My mother’s worth is not based on what she was able to accomplish in the first 90 years of her life. Like all of us, her worth comes from the fact that, as a human being, she is capable of loving and being loved, and her dignity as a person is not reduced because she can’t remember where I live.

She is contributing. Feiguo’s life is valuable. A life’s worth is already innate in each person. Their ability to love—to care—is the ultimate expression of that pre-installed value. But the value is not diminished by physical or mental obstacles. Just ask the people who care.