I got a new hair doo this week, which is likely of no concern to you, but I said that to say this, it was not only a uplifting experience to my hair it was an uplifting experience to my soul. The hair dresser too struggles with caring for a parent with dementia, so she and I spent from dull brown to Espresso bean with silver highlights comparing parental notes. It was encouraging to hear that many of the things I had thought or felt guilty over in my day to day antics with Mother were being experienced by other, really nice people.
Being a creative mind, I sometimes have a hard time staying focused on my work for Ridgeview and The Jesus Chick ministry. I am distracted by Reba and Barbara Jean’s’ antics on CMT so I’ll move to another room in the house, which often times makes Mother upset. She’ll say to me, “I wouldn’t even have come here if I knew you were going to treat me so bad.” Or the most hurtful, “You hate me don’t you?” This was my Saturday morning. It seems such a small thing to deal with. I know other’s caring for dementia patients have it far worse, with violent outbursts and argumentative days. But sometimes it’s the little things that add up.
I have countless fixations for home decor, one of which is miniatures. A shelf that hangs on the kitchen wall has a partial collection of miniature knick-knacks that Mother has seen hundreds of times. But this week (as she held on to things in the kitchen to steady herself (refusing to use her walker) she walked past the shelf, saying, “Who put this here, I love that!”
Just that one split second of joy in her voice was the encouraging Mother I used to know who always loved the little things. Not miniatures necessarily, but things that made a house a home. A hand crocheted doily, Aunt Lillians quilt on her bed, a clean, uncluttered space (sorry Mother) and pictures of every single family member in a haphazard manner on her kitchen wall, which drives me crazy. (Very short trip.)
It caused me to pause and ponder the little things I lose sight of in caring for her. She seldom ever remembers anything in correct context. But last week, Jennifer, our lady who comes a few days a week to give me a break, was sharing her experience with her daughter’s upcoming nuptials. It brought to mind a book of pictures that sets on a shelf in Mother’s bedroom above her bed. The cover is she and my Dad on their wedding day, and the pictures that fill the inside are of family members weddings and the grandkids that followed. I retrieved the book and after showing Jennifer, gave it to Mother. In a split second of clarity she remembered her wedding day, her children… not their names but their faces. Especially my brother Leonard, who we know is her favorite. She lit up when she came to his picture, “there’s my baby boy,” she said. Those little things let me see that even with the dementia, Mother is still there.
If I could encourage you to do anything this week it would be to share some little things that mean a lot with the people you love. Stories, pictures, memories… they cost nothing but someday you’ll understand how very valuable they are. Love you Ridgeview Readers. 💕
