I remember the look in my mother’s eyes. She was standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle, I had just walked about five feet away to pick something up when I saw her. She had not noticed my leaving to select my product and she was scared. She was convinced we had lost each other and she would be forever alone. There was actual panic in her eyes. As soon as I approached and she saw me, relief washed over her face. But the apprehensive look in her eyes remained for several minutes, she still wasn’t convinced that she was totally safe.
I felt a deep empathy for her and the need to provide protection and comfort. I thought I had an idea of what she was feeling, how her world must have seemed when she realized I was missing. I wish I had been correct in these assumptions but I was almost as incorrect in my beliefs on her feelings as I could possibly have been. I’ve found there is just no way to understand the feelings of the demented mind unless you have experienced it first hand, in your very own brain, swimming amidst a thick sea of molasses.
My 1st such experience occurred a few weeks ago when my family and I were dining out. I felt I was doing fairly well that day and decided I could navigate my way to the restroom by myself. And, much to my credit, I was correct in that assumption. Too bad I hadn’t considered finding my way back. When I stepped out of the restroom it was as though I had never been in that restaurant in my life. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea how to find my way back to the table or, for that matter, if any members of my family were still there. I felt as though I had dropped through a man hole cover and could no longer see the surface. I was alone and the panic was beginning to set in, I could see no way this situation would ever end. In my highly dramatized state, I readily came to the horrifying thought that I was going to die in that restaurant, amongst all the artfully tacky artifacts they had adorning the walls.
Then, much to my great relief, my daughter-in-law stepped out of the ladies restroom directly beside me. She had made the journey shortly after I left (in all honesty, I think she was making sure I was alright) and thankfully finished just after I did. A flood of relieved emotions washed over me. I was almost giddy that she had found me, had saved me from an from my imaged desertion, had provided a lifeline to my sanity.
I made no mention of my isolation, my fears of abandonment, the certainty I was going to die there. I didn’t want to spoil the afternoon. Now that I’m posting this, I’m sure they will soon read and discover my little adventure. The results may not be pretty for me but any correction would be done with the concern and caring of those who love me.
As I've written this, it has occurred to me that I recall this incident with a great deal of clarity. It seems to me that those with dementia, well, me at least, have a more clear memory of things that have caused trauma or of things that have been pressing on our mind. Almost as if that “thing” has been imprinted upon our mind. I often can’t get those things out of my thoughts for days.
So, in conclusion, for those of you who are caring for a Loved One suffering from dementia, the next time you see that look in their eyes, I ask you to take the time to consider the situation from your LO’s eyes. No matter how bad you think they feel, or how scared you think they appear, you’re seriously underestimating the depth of their feelings. Imagine, that as a young child, you were lost in the supermarket, that you had no idea when or if you will ever see your parents again. Now, multiply those imagined feelings/fears x100. Now you are coming close to the thoughts racing through our minds...
Take care.
Randy
Severe dementia and aspiration bronchial pneumonia