Now and Then

There has been a time gap since I last wrote. Sometimes I get busy with the diversity of projects I am connected to that extend beyond my work with Canadian Religious Stewardship. And sometimes I am simply not inspired.

Here I am today, a spring fresh morning in Saskatoon. I walked with music this morning, and came upon a long term favourite song of mine: The Mystery of Your Gift sung by Josh Groban. I listened to it over and over and came to the conclusion: this song speaks deeply to me of dementia.

Consider these lyrics:

“A single note passes out of the ashes
A flickering ember begins
It’s the courage to turn when the pages have burned
And your story now seems at an end
Seasons stay and seasons go
Sending your memories adrift
It’s the beautiful longing, embrace the unknown
That’s the mystery of your gift.”

On Friday when I had some free time before heading home, I went to find two of my dementia friends to see if they wanted to get outside as it was a stunning spring day. (Want to gift a senior’s home? Volunteer to sit with people outside or take them on a walk around the block). My friends said yes and off we went. What is great about dementia is there is no pondering of what is next or seeking to find past tasks, overall depending on the type there is often an easy focus on the present.

So off we went. Me stopping to look at the budding trees and them following, me teasing ( with these two they have the cognitive power for that) about a variety of things I notice along the way. Like should we borrow that kid’s skateboard for a whirl? I love hearing them laugh or chastise me teasingly when my imagination gets carried away. They are having the courage to turn when the pages are burned, they are embracing the unknown as their memories are adrift. Some days they hurt as they cannot find their people, but more consistently there is joy. One wobbles in her heels with her heavy socks…the other walks simply taking in the spring air with a big smile on his face.

We lost a third friend a few weeks back. A gentleman who often walked about with his arms crossed and a grouchy look on his face. A grouchy look that disguised a kind and joyful heart despite his frustration about not doing the “work” he thought he was still supposed to be doing. How I will miss the “moments” of joy from him as he tried to teach me German.

The mystery of the gift – we will never fully comprehend what is going on in a mind with dementia. But let’s trust the mystery of it all and enable them to push us to be present in the moment. That is really all we have, is it not?