I only add all that because it is part of why I'm happy working with people with dementia. I feel close to them. From the very first up to now, I still feel close to them.
It has a great deal to do with my young life and its disruption. When I see an elder, moved into care or having care at home, frightened by the losses within, insecure, not knowing what's going on because they can't hold the narrative within, their feelings make a lot of sense to me.
When my young life changed, I was someone who didn't know what was going on. I didn't know why everything had changed. Nothing made sense and I was filled with bewilderment and loss. Frightened. Alone. Confused. And lied to, for years. And believing the lies even though a truth was regularly paraded in front of me. I forgot who I really was.
I forgot where I had once belonged. I forgot my happiness. I forgot my own name.
So, when I saw old people with a different story but also wounded and hurt by forgetting and remembering, no longer knowing their stories, not sure of anything, I felt as if I recognized them. They were who I had once been. Not exactly the same -- they have dementia, I had a great loss. But having dementia is a great loss and they and I shared memory confusions and life losses. Different but similar enough that somehow I recognized them. And, typical of dementia, because I recognized them, they were comfortable with me in a way that didn't always work with other people.
I run support groups and I know that shared loss and sorrow can bring people together as happiness never does. And I think shared loss, even at different periods of life for different reasons, worked to create a bridge of recognition between myself and the elders I have cared for.
That and I always liked the old. I never felt so secure as a child or a young person. Even from my 20s to my 50s, but once I got to late 50s and on, I finally felt I was arriving in my real life. I was born to be comfortably old. Aging doesn't bother me. I even look better with in than when I was younger, though maybe I fool myself there. Anyway, I like my face better now. Too bad about the belly, but what can I say -- you have one too or if you don't, you will. So there it is.
It has a great deal to do with my young life and its disruption. When I see an elder, moved into care or having care at home, frightened by the losses within, insecure, not knowing what's going on because they can't hold the narrative within, their feelings make a lot of sense to me.
When my young life changed, I was someone who didn't know what was going on. I didn't know why everything had changed. Nothing made sense and I was filled with bewilderment and loss. Frightened. Alone. Confused. And lied to, for years. And believing the lies even though a truth was regularly paraded in front of me. I forgot who I really was.
I forgot where I had once belonged. I forgot my happiness. I forgot my own name.
So, when I saw old people with a different story but also wounded and hurt by forgetting and remembering, no longer knowing their stories, not sure of anything, I felt as if I recognized them. They were who I had once been. Not exactly the same -- they have dementia, I had a great loss. But having dementia is a great loss and they and I shared memory confusions and life losses. Different but similar enough that somehow I recognized them. And, typical of dementia, because I recognized them, they were comfortable with me in a way that didn't always work with other people.
I run support groups and I know that shared loss and sorrow can bring people together as happiness never does. And I think shared loss, even at different periods of life for different reasons, worked to create a bridge of recognition between myself and the elders I have cared for.
That and I always liked the old. I never felt so secure as a child or a young person. Even from my 20s to my 50s, but once I got to late 50s and on, I finally felt I was arriving in my real life. I was born to be comfortably old. Aging doesn't bother me. I even look better with in than when I was younger, though maybe I fool myself there. Anyway, I like my face better now. Too bad about the belly, but what can I say -- you have one too or if you don't, you will. So there it is.
I'm a new follower here but not new to your books. I attended a seminar you gave in Sierra Vista several years ago when I was caring for my Mom. You opened my eyes to a new way of thinking. Thank you! I'd love it if you'd visit my blog and follow it, too. Growing Old With Grace http://growing-old-with-grace.blogspot.com/. Hugs, GraceinAZ (aka Pat M)
ReplyDeletei sure will, Grace, and thank-you for your kind words. i used to think i could change medical attitudes, that i could wale everyone up and say, dementia is not how you say it is. now i understand that my work is actually to walk the walk of dementia and hope I can help open people's eyes to a new way of thinking. because that saves us all from heartbreak -- me, you and your Mom! So happy to hear from you. frena
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