Friday Night

I was struggling as to whether or not to put this up.
I still may take it down.
I'm not sure yet.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I love my job. I really can’t imagine doing anything else (though, I have decided that I want to be a backup singer for Neil Diamond when I grow up – but that’s a different story for a different day).

This being said, going back to work after this maternity leave has been challenging. On top of having another urchin around the house, I’m in a new building, owned by a company I’m not familiar with, with new staff, new rules and new clients. The most difficult aspect of this has been transitioning to a caseload with advanced dementia.

Before I was used to working with people with no impairments to moderate dementia. Nothing crazy, but occasionally just enough to know that things weren’t quite right. Now I am working with a population that has severe to end-stage dementia.

BIG DIFFERENCE.

There is no new learning. I have about 30-60 seconds of retention to work with. The rest of what we do needs to stem from previously learned, rote activities.

No easy task, I assure you.

I see people raw. With dementia you can’t cover things up. There aren’t niceties. There is no seven second delay. People say what they think and feel. It’s all out there.

Some days this can be exhausting. It makes me want to bang my head on the wall and sit in the corner sucking my binkie.

But some days it can be beautiful. So beautiful I can do nothing but cry.

I was standing the other day with a very lovely woman who has severe dementia. She knows her name. But other than that, she struggles to recall basic things. She needs assistance to perform most tasks.

We were looking at a long line of family photos. I knew she couldn’t remember who was in the pictures, so I commented on how the people were dressed or their smiles or the backdrops. Her speech is limited and our conversation consisted mostly of short, one to two word phrases.

Then, clear as day, when looking at a picture of her mother, she said to me, “I see spirits. They’re not here, but I know they’re okay. They know I’m okay. They love me. They help you take care of me.”

WOW.

As I stood there, arm in arm with this beautiful lady, all I could think of was her mother. I prayed that her mother knew she was okay. That she knew there were people here taking care of her baby girl until she could be with her again. And I prayed that if my children were ever in a similar situation that there would be someone to take care of them. Someone to let me know they were loved. Someone to hug them for me, until I could hug them again.

At the end of the day I went home and cried. And I hugged my babies.

And I thanked God.

For everything.