Acceptance

February has been quite a month. The leap year’s brought with it not just an extra day, but two pulled fire alarms, one elopement, a pair of microwaved underpants, and an unexpected quarantine. Each situation has been accompanied by some difficult conversations and, in some cases, a lot of paperwork. Per usual, they’ve also sparked reflection; I’m realizing more and more that one of the greatest challenges we face as caregivers is acceptance (& not in the general sense).

Once there’s been a diagnosis of dementia, the past starts to make more sense. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20; with clearer vision and some explanations, we can start to act accordingly. But do we? It’s not as difficult to accept the diagnosis itself, especially when its symptoms are so noticeable. It’s the consequential lack of logic that we can’t grasp – the absence of practicality.

In our present-day social media culture, we value self-justification. We crave recognition and fear judgment. We overthink everything. Such attitudes are useless when it comes to dementia. One of my feistiest nonnas pulled the fire alarm twice in one week. Her family’s response? She thought it was Sunday and wanted to go to church. Oh, of course. Another resident walked out the front door “to go home”. The justification? She used to live in a complex with a clubhouse and she likely believed she was there. My absolute favorite was the underwear. The sweetest, most pleasantly confused nonno microwaved his tighty whities around midnight, and his family was certain that, although he’d never done this before, he simply felt they were wet and needed to be dried. For the record, not one had any recollection of their behavior afterwards.

There are no rational explanations with dementia. Certainly, there are unmet needs, but there is no normal logic. Behaviors can’t be justified the way our brains long for them to, and it’s okay for us to accept that. In fact, it’d make our lives much easier.

OH! As for the quarantine – it’s me. My future sister-in-law and I coincidentally traveled to Italy the weekend there was a coronavirus outbreak. As a precaution, employees who’ve been there lately are mandated to stay home for 14 days. Logical, but not eagerly accepted. 😦

Even When It’s Long, It’s Short

I’m not exactly a big basketball fan. We had season tickets to Seton Hall games growing up and I loved attending, but mostly for the food and camaraderie. I also played point guard in middle school but have literally no idea what the position entails (as my family can attest, I had no clue then either). That being said, just like the rest of the world, I’m sick over the passing of Kobe Bryant. I don’t know if it’s that he was with his daughter, or if it’s the other young passengers onboard, or maybe the way it happened (I’m afraid of flying).. but I’m so, so sad.

Ironically, this past week was spent in Southern California on a work trip. A few of us split an Uber to LA and visited the Staples Center, and I’m so happy we did; the makeshift memorial was simultaneously devastating and peaceful. It was so beautiful, in every sense of the word.

As someone who works with people at end of life, I can attest that even when it’s long, life is short. The years we’re healthy and able-bodied are scarce. We can’t waste them. We can’t wait for devastating reminders of our mortality to start truly living. Everything can change in an instant; death is not the only precursor to finality.

Rest in Peace ❤