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.

Dementia knocks

 When dementia comes knocking

Our world starts rocking

It comes to both young and old

It creeps in or races in so bold

It takes over our dreams

Scaring us it seems

Dementia can be a frightening place

We need love and support to run this race

Arms up and Reaching out

Sometimes a whisper

Sometimes a shout

Why can't they hear me?

Don't they see?

What would you do

If it happened to you? 

By Sandy Whelan 

Dementia with Dignity: I Hope You Dance

Dementia with Dignity: 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 ...

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!

Rita's Daughter

Rita was a wonderful lady who had a twinkle in her eye and a zest for life. She was a tiny lady, barely 5 feet tall. You never saw her without a smile on her face. She loved music and would dance any time she could.

Rita was already living in our memory care neighborhood when I first began working there. Her face lit up when we first met. She was so excited to see me, and I soon discovered the reason. Rita began to introduce me as her daughter to everyone we met. As we would walk to activities, she would stop staff and say "have you met my daughter?" She was so proud to have her daughter visiting her. It was very obvious that she loved her daughter very much. Sometimes staff would ask if I was really her daughter. Rita was quick to tell them “yes, she’s my daughter.” Never once did I tell her that I was not her daughter. Why would I want to take that joy away from her?

I often wondered did I look like her daughter? Did I sound like her daughter? What was it about me that felt so familiar and comfortable to her? I know I certainly loved her like a daughter would. There was always a hug waiting for me, and she always asked about the family. What more could I ask for? Her daughter lived out of town, but her son and daughter-in-law visited daily. We became good friends as the years went by. I think they were happy that Rita had someone who loved her when they weren't able to be there.

As Rita declined in health from her dementia, I did finally have an opportunity to meet her daughter Cheryl. I shared happy stories of my time with Rita. I looked hard to see the similarities between Cheryl and I. I didn't think we looked alike, and our mannerisms were not similar in my eyes. But for whatever reason, Rita thought we were both her daughter. I know this was probably difficult for Cheryl. I took comfort in knowing that I filled that hole in the heart for Rita when her daughter could not be there. The love I felt from Rita was a gift that I will always treasure. I hope her family was able to take some comfort in knowing that I loved their mom and was proud to be her "daughter."

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."

Dementia with Dignity: I'm Already Dead...

Dementia with Dignity: I'm Already Dead...: Becky was sitting at a table with other residents who have very late stage dementia and are mostly non-verbal. I quietly asked the staff if ...