Snapshots of Dementia: People Who Need People

Snapshots of Dementia: People Who Need People
Thursday, March 10, 2022 by Marti

The truth of this Streisand classic has resounded in all our hearts over the past two years-plus. I knew the enforced time at home would prove more challenging for Tom (the original “E” in extrovert) than for me, the confirmed introvert. When the lockdown ended and we began getting out again, the joy I saw in his face and heard in his voice convinced me that we are indeed people who need people—and we would do our best to stay safe, but social.

I’ve written about the blessings of family and how much we treasure time with our five children, our two sons-in-love, and our grandson. We thank God for them every day, and as I wrote in last week’s blog, we couldn’t have survived the pandemic (especially the adventures of 2021, which I’ll share in an upcoming post) without them. We’re also grateful for extended family across the country (you know who you are, and we love you).

In addition to family, I am increasingly grateful for friends, who continue to give us the kinds of gifts we hold close in our hearts. Below, I list only a few:

— The friend who sends Tom brief notes with links to cartoons that mesh with the quirky sense of humor they share. Tom rarely looks at email these days, but he does pay attention to those. Better yet, they make him smile.

— The college friend of Tom’s who visited us early in the lockdown. He lived in Michigan, so when Tom told me he would be in the area for the weekend and wanted to stop by, I was sure this Reservist must have a military event. Only partway through his visit did I realize: There was no military event. Our friend had driven hours from home, spent the night in a motel, then driven several more hours that morning to reach us—only to drive all the way back to Michigan that same day. That’s more than friendship. That’s the sacrificial love of Jesus.

— A missionary friend from several states away whose husband also has a frontal-lobe dementia. She and I had only met online until she went out of her way to stop by in person, also during the first phase of the lockdown. Even our quick side hug on my front porch meant a great deal to me—but as not as much as the prayers, hard questions, and support from someone whose path looks startlingly similar to my own. She brought me a sunflower, a lovely metaphor for the brave beauty that stands and shines through even the darkest of circumstances.

— The college friend of Tom’s who messaged, then called early on when she learned of Tom’s diagnosis. She spoke with me—and then with him. Since then, she has called him periodically just to chat. I’m sure his conversation wanders, but he is at his best when he talks about old times. I so appreciate her willingness to fit Tom into her busy life.

— Old friends from the churches we’ve served (in Texas, New Mexico, California, South Carolina, Florida) who stay in touch through various means, including this blog. Just knowing we have people who care about us—no matter what—means more than I can express.

— New friends from our church and neighborhood. When you move in only three months before a global shutdown, it’s tough to make friends. But both our neighborhood walks and our church attendance helped us get to know people. Our Sunday school class appreciates the insights and humor Tom can still bring to our lessons, even when he struggles at times to deliver them. And the few he considers his extra-special friends are always ready with smiles, hugs, and the same kind of loving words he has always shared with others. I’m so grateful to have their acceptance and encouragement in our ever-changing situation.

— Our pastor and minister of music, who have done everything from taking Tom out for his favorite Wendy’s Frostys to visiting in our home to listening to him retell stories multiple times. One event in particular stands out. Tom wanted to attend a friend’s funeral, but it was scheduled for a day when I couldn’t rearrange my work schedule. Without my knowledge, he voice-texted our pastor to ask for a ride. Not only did our pastor agree (for a funeral he was preaching!), but he and the minister of music kept Tom with them for the service, the graveside, and the trip back home. That was more time than Tom had been away from me for months—other than when I was hospitalized—and both men gave him gracious, tender care. He came home exhausted from the social interaction but delighted not only to honor our friend but have a bit of his old life back as well.

Indeed, we are people who need people. I can only pray that the Lord returns to these dear ones all they’ve invested in Tom and in me.

What have friendships meant to you or your loved one living with dementia? Our story matters, but so does yours. Feel free to share your comments here or on social media platforms.

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