Becoming a reader once again has been one of my great joys in the last month. Health issues impacted my cognition and for months I could neither read nor write for more than moments at a time. I’ve gone deep into some back catalogues to compensate for wordless months. At the moment I’m reading John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. As I travel west with Tom Joad’s family, Steinbeck’s gritty descriptions of life during the Great Depression are captivating. I feel the dust in my throat.

I am transfixed by the function of the women, especially the family matriarch, “Ma” Joad, who is never given a first name. It is easy to be confused about whose narrative this story is, because initially it centers on Tom, her son. It isn’t until the end that one recognizes the through line. Ma Joad carries not only her family, but the story to the end. Her constancy is her character.

Any person in a caregiving role can see themselves in Ma Joad. She sets the emotional tone for her family and feels that burden considerably, often repressing her own grief and anxieties. She is, in some ways, a storyteller, providing the narrative tone for anything that befalls her family. They look to her reactions for framing and perspective. Determining the narrative is a powerful role, but it balances between providing solid ground for those who need it, without overriding the narrative perspectives of others.

Caregivers spend most of their energy anticipating needs, whether it be material or emotional. When we are exhorted to be in the moment, so often this is the perspective of someone who is not responsible for the care of others. The reality is yes, sometimes, really be where you’re at and notice what is happening, but caring for others is most often not a spontaneous occurrence. Meals cannot be provided if grocery lists are not created. Clean, dry clothes are not available if doing laundry is not planned. The spontaneous acts are themselves often conscientious decisions to stop and listen to someone, to give a compliment, be kind in the moment an opportunity arises, despite the very long “to-do” list begging for attention.

When I read the conversation between Ma Joad and her son, Al, Ma’s philosophy becomes clear. She is both Zen and pragmatic, gentle and hard. She is the consummate caregiving storyteller.

“Ma, you scared a goin’? You scared a goin’ to a new place?”

Her eyes grew thoughtful and soft. “A little,” she said. “only it ain’t like scared so much. I’m jus’ a settin’ here waitin’. When somepin happen that I got to do somepin–I’ll do it.”

“Ain’t you thinkin’ what’s it gonna be like when we get there? Ain’t you scared it won’t be nice like we thought?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I ain’t. You can’t do that. I can’t do that. It’s too much — livin’ too many lives. Up ahead they’s a thousan’ lives we might live, but when it comes, it’ll on’y be one. If I go ahead on all of ’em, it’s too much. You got to live ahead ’cause you’re so young, but — it’s jus’ the road goin’ by for me. An’ it’s jus’ how soon they gonna wanta eat some more pork bones.” Her face tightened. “That’s all I can do. I can’t do no more. All the rest’d get upset if I done any more’n that. They all depen’ on me jus’ thinkin’ about that.”

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

The circumstances Ma Joad and her family were living under are more dire than what most of us experience in modern life. Still, as I make my grocery list, throw in a load of laundry (thank goodness for modern appliances), plan for meals for the week sans pork bones, I’m as present as I can be because I’m jus’ thinkin’ about that.