I marvel at life and its surprises. Growing up, there is the mystery of finding our way. Challenges help us learn, grow, and endure. There is satisfaction when we are doing the best we can. And joy when young love turns into happy marriages. There are children, then grandchildren who give meaning to life. And there are the surprises that ensure each day opens with possibilities and uncertainty.
When dementia appears, we must return to the challenge of finding our way. Initially, short- term memory loss and repetitive questions raise eyebrows but not alarms. Confused conversations are easily dismissed because they may only be signs of normal aging. But dementia has time on its side. Eventually, the unavoidable truth surfaces in public, and denial is no longer an option. What is right? What should we do?
There has been no training for this, and we need to find answers. There are many different resources, including support groups, websites, professionals, organizations, and books. Depending on personal preferences, each has its advantages. I have benefited from all of them, but the learning curve is a rocky road. Please join me as I relive one of the discoveries on my journey.
Early on, I was told that people with dementia experience short-term memory loss but are better at holding onto long-term memories. I also learned they have difficulty recalling names and become confused about their ages. Lessons like these were informative, but distant.
Living with dementia, however, is real and devastating. The losses kept coming day after day: disjointed conversations; temporal and spatial confusion; difficulty concentrating, reasoning, and making decisions; reduced word recall; multiple daily naps and long nights of interrupted sleep; and fading longer term memories. But as hard as all this was, the greatest stings came from innocent questions that highlighted the growing distance between us: Do you have any brothers or sisters? Do you live around here? What’s your name?
Gayla lived with me and our daughter, Brooke, and eventually she concluded that there were two Petes and two Brookes. The first versions were the ones she remembered from years ago and the second were the people who were with her now. She could not make the connection between the past and the present. One time, when we were looking at recent pictures of me and our kids, she said, “I know this is Brooke and I know this is Robb, but is this other a picture of my father?” Ouch.
The light didn’t come on immediately. I remained baffled by this whole confusing world of dementia. But after a while, it sank in. The young Pete she loved and married and who loved her unconditionally was still young, just like she was in her own mind. Gayla had recently bragged that she could still run up in the mountains, when in fact she was increasingly experiencing difficulty walking. In her mind, there was no way that the Pete she married could possibly be the Pete in the picture. But these were family pictures. It had to be her father.
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