Snapshots of Dementia: Above and Beyond

Posted by Marti on November 19, 2022 in Dementia | 2 comments

It’s an ordinary bank, and she was an ordinary teller. One of thousands of ordinary others, paid to do an ordinary job in an ordinary way. 

Or that’s what you might think if you didn’t know the full story. 

For a while after we moved to South Carolina, I kept my Florida bank. Changing banks is a hassle, especially with the multiple responsibilities I have, and I could do everything I needed with the mobile app.  

Everything, that is, until the Social Security Administration said I had to have a separate account for Tom’s finances once they said he qualified for disability funds. Since his disability diagnosis related to his dementia, they wouldn’t release the funds until he had a representative payee (which they recommended be me) in place. 

I did a little research and decided on a local bank, made a visit, and explained my situation. The customer service representative helped me open the appropriate accounts and later, a business account that I needed as well. 

Because of working as a freelancer, I don’t have many automatic deposits to my accounts, and I often have deposits that exceed the limit for the mobile app. This means I make at least two or three trips to the bank every month. I try to go when Tom is settled in his recliner and busy with his iPad so I don’t have to upset his routine. Generally, I can get to and from the bank within fifteen minutes, give or take (advantages of a small town).  

Just an ordinary trip to an ordinary bank—until one ordinary teller made those trips extraordinary. Not only did she quickly learn my name and greet me with a big hello every time I pulled up to her window, but she knew my car (and when I changed vehicles this year, she recognized the new one too).  

She always asked how I was doing, and she always seemed interested in my answer.  

Early in our relationship, I told her about my husband’s dementia, and she often asked how he was. When I brought him along and introduced him from his seat on the passenger’s side, she was just as kind to him as she was to me.  

She also told me about herself. When she took a vacation, I heard about it (we share a love for the beach). 

We talked about the seasonal decorations in her bank window; she enjoyed setting up little scenes so it “wouldn’t look boring” for people in the drive-through.  

Of course, we only spent a few minutes together at each visit, but (especially during a season when Tom didn’t feel like going to church) sometimes talking to her was my only in-person interaction with someone other than Tom for a number of days. 

I’m sure she didn’t know how lonely or starved for “normal” conversation I felt. 

I’m sure she didn’t know that I deliberately chose “her” lane every time I came to the bank— even when the other lane was empty and I had to wait in hers. 

I’m sure she didn’t know how much I looked forward to the simple act of making a deposit. 

And I’m equally sure that she didn’t know that I wiped away a few tears when she told me this week that she was leaving the bank for a higher-paying, more physical job. 

We’ve all heard it: You don’t always know the difference you make in someone else’s life. You may not know what burdens they carry or what struggles or needs they have. You may not know that a simple greeting or smile can make that person feel warm, welcome, and seen in a season where that is rarely the case. 

I am blessed to have the love of family and friends near and far. But I was also blessed by my teller friend, who is far from ordinary and who is one of the reasons I thank God for those who go above and beyond. 

I’ll miss her. And I’m already working on paying it forward by going above and beyond as well. 

If you or someone you know is living with dementia, who in your life has gone above and beyond in a way that blessed you? Feel free to share your comments below or on social media. Our story matters—and so does yours.