A cool glass of water on a hot summer day, a comfy couch after a long walk, a hug after a sad moment – connections like these can refresh a person and provide renewed energy to keep going when a difficult task lies ahead.
For a person caring with a loved one or family member who’s living with dementia, a day can seem endless. My friend Matt called recently to report that, within the last 30 minutes, his mildly impaired wife had asked him three times – “Where’s Matt?” One minute runs into the next and the next.
His experience can be a typical sign of distress for a person living with Alzheimer’s or some related loss of cognitive functioning. While every person with this disease may present different bizarre behaviors, the effect on a caregiver can feel like waves steadily eroding rocks at the shoreline. In these scenes, the rocks can’t escape and neither can the caregiver.
Respite care is an excellent antidote to this situation. Professional services are available that provide the caregiver with much-needed time off – enough time to regroup and restore sufficient energy to resume one’s required responsibilities.
Sometimes, neighbors, close friends or family members can offer a caregiver enough freedom to draw a full breath. When my husband could no longer be left home alone safely, a longtime friend who lived on the other side of town drove the distance to sit with my husband for three hours in the evening so I could go to choir practice. What a generous act – one that left me with renewed confidence and fortified forbearance to continue being the household watchdog.
Friends invited us to join them for a newly released film followed by dinner together at a local eatery. My late husband sat cheerfully among us during our lively exchange about the film. He was totally accepting of his situation and seemed energized by the warm gathering. Proudly, he declared, “I’ve seen that movie before.” Our dinner company, well aware of his condition, nodded his way and allowed him his fantasy. This level of support from good friends was invaluable to both of us.
Knowing how tedious daily meal preparation had become for me when my husband had to be coaxed to the dinner table, a great pal brought over a collection of her favorite pasta recipes and all the basic ingredients so I could try cooking something new. I enjoyed knowing that she and her family might be savoring the same meal.
As I opened cards and letters that came from friends and acquaintances after my husband died, I was struck by the mountain of mail and the numbers of messages left on my phone. Each time I heard from someone new, I made a note on a strip of colored paper about an inch wide and 12 inches long. I wove three of these reminders together in a tight pattern until I’d created what felt like strong cushions of support.
Small acts of generosity could make any day brighter. Looking back, I can still feel the unconditional love that energized these moments. And I can make the same promise to myself – do I know people whose lives are hidden behind a curtain of heartbreak as they toil day after day to assure the safety and well-being of loved ones with dementia? How easy it would be for me to stop by, make a phone call or send a text message to offer an hour or two to give a friend or neighbor some respite.
Such kindness reflects huge amounts of concern and compassion. Each experience can give a person a momentary lift that means a lifeline for someone in need. Herein lies the fabric of a supportive community. Pass it on.
Mary Nowotny is a freelance writer, migrating between Hermosa and Tucson, Arizona, who has learned a lot about the soft sides of old age, sickness and dying.
