All is not lost...

So often I see people acting like someone with dementia is already gone. They will often no longer look them in the eyes, touch becomes less frequent, and conversation diminishes. Does this happen because the disease takes people away or because we no longer look at them in the same way any longer?

I love seeing a light come into someone's eyes when I can connect with her or him. I always get close so we can make eye contact. I usually touch the person, often holding their hand as we look deep into each other's eyes. I begin a conversation, hoping the person will join in. This may be with words, a smile, or a squeeze of my hand. It doesn't really matter to me how we connect...it's more important that we connect. I will often sing an old familiar song which often brings a soft voice singing with me. It may not be all the words, but the music is there. The person is still there. We just have to reach them.

It seems to me that we give up trying to connect. When Mom can't remember the grandchildren or that Dad died 5 years ago, we often begin to pull away. As we pull away we watch our loved one retreat deeper into their own world where they live in memories. That's why they often tell us that Aunt Esther and Uncle Ed stopped by today. We begin to think they surely must have lost their mind because Aunt Esther died 25 years ago and Uncle Ed passed 10 years ago. How can Mom possibly believe that she saw them...she has to be crazy, right?

But the pages of our memories often flutter as we relive times in our lives. Some days we may be remembering long ago. Other days it may be on a more recent page of memories. We can help them to enjoy these fleeting memories just by letting them open up and talk about Aunt Esther or Uncle Ed. You might even hear some wonderful families stories that you never knew. Don't worry if the facts aren't perfect. This is not a history class...this is about the feelings! And just remember...All is not lost, it's just temporarily forgotten to be remembered another day.

I Hope You Dance

Dave was younger than most of our other residents. He had been found wandering and very confused. After a brief hospital stay, he came to live with us.  Many of the staff were frightened by him because he could become very angry when upset. I think his anger came from his lack of control after being placed in a long term care facility for his own safety. He was a very active gentleman who liked to be in charge. He also had been a career Army man and was used to being in control of a situation. One of the first things I learned about Dave was that he was a gentleman. He knew how to show respect, but you had to earn it. He often used rather salty language, but I would just gently remind him that I was lady and I knew he didn't talk to ladies like that. I think that gentle reminder helped him to gain control of his emotions, and he would always apologize with sincerity.

Dave loved music and dancing. Almost every day after lunch, we would turn on the music and share a dance together. He was an excellent dancer, much better than I was with my two left feet. He never once complained as I stumbled through our dance. He smiled and would often sing along with the music. He stood taller as we were transported to another time with the music. I could see the man he used to be...the man he still was when dementia let him. Music was the only activity he ever seemed interested in. He shared his love of music and dancing with anyone who was willing to join him. I don't know whatever became of Dave after he left our facility; but Dave,
if you are out there somewhere...I hope you dance!

Jo and the Music

Jo was an accomplished artist and was the most elegant lady I had ever met. She was in the latter stages of dementia when I first met her. There was such a quiet grace about her that I longed to know more about her. She seldom spoke now, but her smile was so beautiful. Her brilliant blue eyes would look deeply into mine-almost as if she could see to the depths of my soul. Jo was always there when I began a group activity. She sat quietly as I asked my trivia questions or reminisced about days gone by. She would smile when I spoke directly to her, but she remained silent. One of my favorite things was sing-alongs with the residents. We sang the old songs that they remembered from church or school. When we forgot the words we would just hum until we remembered the words again. One evening we were singing "God Bless America" when I heard a wonderful soprano voice. I looked over to see Jo with a lovely smile singing along. She had perfect pitch and didn't miss a note. From that moment we never had a sing-along without singing "God Bless America."