Christmas in July and Diabetic Desserts

Dementia sucks.  No, really, it does.

When I was in nursing school, I spent a summer working with the elderly in an assisted living facility, and many of the residents I cared for suffered from this disease.  While it is a tragic thing to watch a loved one succumb to dementia, it did bring me the occasional giggle at what some of them would tend to forget.

Okay, I'll be honest.  These people had me so tickled, I spent most of my shifts in stitches.

One resident was distressed that she had waited so long to put up her Christmas decorations (it was July).
They couldn't understand how I could help them finish telling a story when I had "never heard it before."
They didn't know who I was day after day or why I barged into their rooms to help them to the toilet, when they were perfectly capable of doing it themselves, thankyouverymuch.

They couldn't remember what they ordered for dinner or where their rooms were.

And the certainly didn't remember they were diabetic when the dessert tray came around.

Ahhh, memories.

I have a soft spot for people with dementia, but it wasn't always so.  If you had told me years ago that I would volunteer to push wheelchairs or remove TED hose or escort old ladies to the bathroom, I would have thought you were crazy.  I would have fallen on the floor laughing if you told me that I would enjoy it.  But all that disappeared when one precious little woman forever changed the face of dementia for me.
That woman was my Nanny.

She was a spritely woman who was completely independent well into her 80s.  But when several small strokes hit, her sharp mind and bubbly spirit began to fade.  We knew things "weren't right" when she put her clocks ahead 2 hours for Daylight Saving Time, adamantly stating that "the people on the TV told her to."  No matter how many watches or clocks we showed her, she was convinced she was right.

She had begun to develop vascular dementia, and soon she was so confused by the world around her, she resembled a small child who needed to be instructed on how to do everything.  I had to help feed her, dress her, and I even had to physically show her how to get into the bathtub.  It broke my heart to see this strong woman become so feeble.

Occasionally, we would relish in glimpses of her old self--her gentle laugh, her sweet smile, her telling a nurse that she was a "foxy redhead" when she was younger.

Yep.  That's my Nanny.

But there is one memory I have of her that I will treasure for the rest of my days.

When she got sicker, she had to participate in a Mini Mental Status Exam.  This routine test helps to determine a person's awareness of their surroundings, how well they can recall facts, and how well they can communicate.  One portion requires the patient to write down two sentences.  Any two sentences.
My sweet grandmother who couldn't bathe or dress herself at the time, pen in hand, scribbled this:

Jesus loves me.  Jesus loves you.

Nothing else was worth remembering to her.  At a time when she was scared and lost, she didn't feel compelled to figure out "what" or "why."

"Who" was all that mattered.

Perhaps the hardest thing about dementia is "losing" your loved one before you actually lose them.  Seeing them forget who you are, who they are.

There are times when I feel like that; when something hard comes along--the "small strokes" of life that act like a powerful current, pulling me under--and I feel lost.  I don't understand.  I can get so bogged down with anger and disappointment that I forget how to function in the world around me.  I forget who I am.  I resemble a little child who has to be instructed on how to do everything.

Do you ever feel that way?  Has something hurt you so deeply that it robs you of what makes you you?
If you haven't, you likely will.

And when it does, what are you going to be concerned with?  If it's July and your Christmas decorations aren't up yet?  If the dessert tray is inexplicably passing you by?

Or will you be concerned with what's greater, what's eternal?

Will you be concerned with "Whom?"

In case you didn't get it earlier, I'll say it again: Jesus loves you.

When it doesn't feel like it--Jesus loves you.

When it doesn't make sense--Jesus loves you.

When it hurts so badly you can hardly breathe--Jesus loves you.

If you say it enough, it just might stick with you.  Don't let what hurts you rob you of the joy that His unconditional love brings.  He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  He is constant.  He is Savior.  Messiah.  Blessed Redeemer.

And He loves you.

And that, my friend, is all you need to remember.