Fading Memories

This week we were faced with the task of admitting a loved one to an assisted living facility. The loss of cognitive function had progressed to the point that simple tasks were a struggle and when this became overwhelming for him, he basically collapsed on the floor and waited for someone to come looking for him to begin the process of assisting him back to his feet. If the caregiver in the house is without a good bit of strength and balance, the situation becomes not only difficult but also dangerous. Fractures or broken bones would only add to an already bad situation.

There have been thousands of books and essays written on the devastation of loss of mental clarity and function as those we love enter into the disease of dementia. There are words of wisdom and encouragement on websites and from friends that try to help us have confidence in the decisions of how to best care for family members that can no longer be cared for at home. We second-guess each step and wear the guilt like a heavy coat in the heat of summer.

One kind administrator of a care facility we considered shared a comment that I have turned over in my thoughts for a few days now: “He no longer remembers the saddest days of his life. Those memories are gone.”

If he no longer remembers the saddest days, I wonder how often we might upset that soft filter of dementia by trying to connect with him? If we selfishly want him to remember us when we visit, do we bring up a string of memories that cause him to recall (if even for a moment) that he is no longer in his home of many years or able to have control over his day, what he does, and where he goes? Does he remember, if even briefly, after we have left to go back to our lives that we have departed without him?

Might it be better to simply visit and check on him as “a stranger” while letting him make friends with the faces he will see each day in his new and smaller world? Is this less stressful for the patient that struggles already with so many of the simple tasks that were so easy in the past? Does he really need to try to answer the question “Do you remember your granddaughter? Your son? Your wife?” when he is trying to remember how to button a shirt? If we know the disease progression is inevitable, are these memories important?

Thinking about my own life, I can’t really recall the “saddest day” of my life. There are plenty of times I probably believed that a day could not get any worse, but with time that memory has faded. And with that filter of time and fading of those memories, I realized that the future in front of me was more important than the trials of the past. I made it through. I’m still here. Those terrible times are relative to what I see before me now and only my imagination holds those boundaries.

If it is true that he no longer remembers the saddest days of his life, are we strong enough to give up not being part of his present world in the way our memories want to hold on to the man we once knew?

For myself, I’ll keep the memory of conversations and moments with him as long as I can without asking him to do the same. Hopefully, he’ll become my new friend each time I visit and I can hold on to the new memories we make for both of us.