Snapshots of Dementia: Do Hard Things
Do hard things. So reads the plaque on my office wall, courtesy of my two former “work daughters.” That phrase became our mantra as we learned that God often calls us to the more challenging choices, those more difficult, more sacrificial, and often, more right. He calls us to do hard things. For me, that sometimes means handling insurance, tax, or other details I’d prefer to ignore. Sometimes it means interrupting my work multiple times a day to help Tom with a word game or find a (temporarily) lost item. Sometimes it means taking on yet another household task he can no longer perform. And sometimes it means helping him tackle a challenge I’m not sure he can handle. In the past, if such a situation occurred while I was raising children, I might have said I was giving my child the freedom to fail. But Tom already experiences small failures multiple times a day. When I help him do hard things, I’m giving him the freedom to succeed—even if success doesn’t look the way it used to. For most of his working life, Tom served as a senior pastor, then a worship pastor/minister of music. He also played his trumpet professionally for churches and other venues. As a worship pastor, he planned and directed a number of Christmas productions, some with three performances per Christmas season and components including drama, lights, and sound as well as choral work. This year, when our worship pastor announced that our choir would combine with two others for a community Christmas presentation, I felt both excited and sad. The music came from one of Tom’s all-time favorite arrangers, but the production was shorter and less complicated than the ones he had directed. Yet as I read over it, I knew it might still be too much for him. I wondered about his physical ability. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stand for much of the time, but I also knew that, just as he used to tell his choir members, it would be fine if he sat. I wondered about his emotional ability. How hard would it be for him to “only” sing when, just a few years ago, he had directed similar productions? I wondered about his cognitive ability. During our regular choir practices, I’d noticed him struggling to follow along with his music at times. How would he handle this more difficult score? Tom accepted the idea of the Christmas production well—not enthusiastically, but he rarely shows enthusiasm anymore now that he is living with dementia. Before long, he told me he wanted to try out for a solo. What? I’m wondering if he can even sing in the choir, and...
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