Snapshots of Dementia: At Just the Right Time
A few years ago, I lived a much different life in a different place than the one I have right now. Living near Orlando, Florida, where Tom served as a worship pastor, I worked as a freelance writer and editor as I do now, but since Tom was the primary breadwinner, it didn’t matter that my income went up and down with the assignments. As my children grew, I traveled, often to teach at Christian writers conferences across the United States.
But the travel I enjoyed most was a luxury I no longer have: going overseas to serve in missions and write the story of those trips, either in online blog format or in print. I consider any assignment that combines my love for young people, prayer, missions, and writing a huge win, and these trips, designed to give students a short-term missions experience, provided all of that. Once, I brought Tom along on a trip to Costa Rica; he had led international mission trips with the various churches we had served, but we had never gone together before—a bonus blessing. Another time, I had the opportunity to serve alongside our youngest daughter in Panama for the final ten days of her five-week trip, another bonus blessing.
At least for right now, the international travel is no more. The up-and-down income is no more. But the blessings of those trips continue, largely in the form of relationships. Thanks to those trips, I have friends across the U.S., Canada, and Latin America (where all of my mission trips took place). And those friends—many of whom were high school or college students when we met—continue to encourage me today.
What does this have to do with dementia? A lot. Not only has Tom’s life changed with the onset of his disease, but mine has too—in the ways listed above and more. I tend to live on the side of hope and not discouragement. But as his disease progresses, I do have moments, even seasons, of concern. Not long ago, my mother had some health struggles at the same time as I saw some sudden declines in Tom. I found myself in need of extra rest, and at first I couldn’t figure out why. But before long, I realized: The internal stress was wearing me down.
I didn’t find an immediate fix for my situation, but the habits I already have in place kept the issues from escalating. God also provided help in ways I had not expected: Understanding words from family members. A special opportunity to reach beyond my problems by serving my church family in a new way. And—without my mentioning any of my concerns—texts and messages from some of the same students I’d served alongside on the mission field, all of which arrived on God’s schedule: at just the right time.
One of these unexpected messages came from a young woman I remembered from mission trips. I woke up to early writing assignments that day and happened to see her note waiting for me. Tears came to my eyes as I read her words of encouragement. This was a person with whom I’d had little contact since those long-ago trips, and since she was one of hundreds of students on the trips, we hadn’t known each other well, yet she took time to bless me through her words. I didn’t ask permission to share her personal letter, but I will share the main points she made. There may be a caregiver in your life who needs to hear them too:
— Your words matter. My friend was complimenting me on past and present writing, telling me my work made a difference—the great compliment a writer can receive. Not every caregiver is a writer, of course, but everyone needs to know that what they do has genuine value.
— I can relate to your situation. In this young woman’s case, a family member is also living with dementia. Not everyone has this situation, of course, but almost everyone knows someone who is LWD or has heard the public story of someone who does.
— I see Jesus in you. At a time when I felt frail, broken, and beaten down, this encouragement alone meant so much. His power is perfected in my weakness (2 Cor. 12:9), even and especially now.
— I hope you feel valued, seen, and loved. This is a basic statement of basic needs, but knowing another individual recognized that I might not always have that experience also meant a great deal.
— I am praying for you. I never intend to use my blog as a platform for sympathy, but prayer? That’s something I need every day.
— You are not alone. My wise young friend reminded me that friends, family, and Jesus are with me and that I should reach out if I had a need.
When Tom was a pastor, he used to say his primary job was reminding people of things they already knew. That’s what my friend did in her letter, and that’s what I hope I’m doing today. If you know a caregiver (other than the one behind these words), how might you best bless them today? Do they need a text, a phone call, a card, or word of encouragement? Do they need to know they are “valued, seen, and loved” or that they are not alone, that you see Jesus in them?
I write this not because I don’t have encouragers; clearly, I do. I write for those who may not—and for those who may need to become that person, even via a quick online message. You never know how far your words will reach—or whether they may touch a caregiver’s heart at just the right time.
If you or someone you know is a caregiver for someone who is LWD, how have you felt encouraged or encouraged that person? In what ways have others blessed you, or how have you reached out to others to bless them? The needs will vary with the situation, but to use another one of Tom’s favorite sayings, “No one ever died from over-encouragement.” Share your thoughts and experiences in the comment section below or on social media. Our story matters—and so does yours.
