Finding the Path
We talk about dementia mostly in terms of what it takes away.
She doesn’t remember me anymore. He can’t drive. My sister doesn’t recognize her children. My spouse forgets that I was just there.
The losses are real, and they hurt. But when loss becomes the whole story, we can miss what is still there.
That has shaped the way I have thought about dementia care since I first experienced it in my own family and, later, with my dear Joe.
I could reach my mother with music. I could reach Joe with his box of photographs. I could reach my grandmother with a walk around the block.
The doorway was different, but the person was still there.
Maybe we need to ask a different question.
Instead of asking, What has dementia taken away?
Ask, What remains, and how can I reach it?
Because caregiving is not only about managing what has been lost. It is also about finding the music, the memory, the movement, the touch, the object, the place, or the familiar ritual that still opens a door.
What if we spent as much time looking for what remains as we do mourning what is gone?
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