Now and Then

This week has been full. One sister has healed in the hospital (well mostly on our initiatives) and another has been blessed with a long term care home bed so will be transferred to her new home today.

As religious sisters, without the daily presence of families, and as age erodes memories, sometimes they arrive into a long term care home and their stories are not carried in. There is no one that has intentionally noted them, and if one is not a writer and records things personally, the stories are lost. In families there tends to be more intentionality to share stories and memories together, often with photos to trigger the connections.

Are the stories important? Is how we lived our 90 years of life important to us as we age and sometimes forget our past? Or is it like a daily starting over, and the past is not really that present or important anymore?

I think it is important. I think our touchstones with one another, our shared experiences and histories matter. I think they colour our lives and remind us of loving and being loved. They remind us of the providence of God woven through every breath we take.

As I write up the story of this sister’s life I feel a sense of grief for her. Not because she has not lived a full and good life, but because the evidence of that is scarce. The evidence is not to affirm her beauty but to enhance it. To have common starting places and shared memories that are not just about details but about feelings, about the warmth in your heart when you look at old pictures and remember the joy of the moment, the sense of belonging you shared with others even if the dementia is robbing you of the the who what why.

I am not confident about this, but I know when I brought some old pictures to look at with her there was more of a light in her eyes, not a struggle because she couldn’t remember, but a light that perhaps said I had a good life. I cannot get inside dementia, but I can try to access her heart by carrying some of the memories for her and help others to do the same.

There is a time for everything, including being the carrier of others’ stories.