Change of Seats

During the first few weeks of visiting Mom in the group home, I noticed how each of the residents was at a different stage, in terms of the progression of dementia. Along the U-shape of reclining chairs in the family room, Arlene and Elizabeth were the two ladies who sat across from Mom and Shirley. They spoke very few words and needed assistance getting up and down. Caregivers refer to this as transferring someone, such as from chair, to wheelchair, to dining room table. If two caregivers are needed, that means it’s a two-person transfer.

Arlene sat directly across from my mother. Always nicely dressed with coordinated costume jewelry and her hair combed neatly, she spoke very few words and her facial expression was static. Mom would lean forward in her chair, waving and smiling to Arlene, trying to evoke a response. Usually, the smile went unreturned, though occasionally, the corners of Arlene’s mouth turned upward slightly in answer to Mom’s overtures. (The ability to register emotion is greatly affected in the later stages of dementia.) “She doesn’t talk,” Mom observed.

Like my mother, I, too, made an effort to connect with Arlene and Elizabeth by greeting them and including them in group conversations. Even if unintentional, it’s too easy to ignore people who are unable to communicate, whether due to a hearing deficiency, dementia, or other reason. They disappear into the background and slip away further. What if, just like in Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who!, their insides are shouting: We are here! We are Here!

I learned that it was a balance to acknowledge their presence without pressuring Arlene and Elizabeth to respond and without expecting words that were unable to be formed. Most days I would just go over, touch their hands, and say, Nice to see you today. When Arlene and Elizabeth each departed, I hoped that those smiles and touches had been a small comfort.

Three years later, on an ordinary afternoon, I pulled up my chair to be near Mom who was now seated on the other side of the U. She and one of her dear friends in the care home named Lydia occupied the reclining chairs that had once belonged to Arlene and Elizabeth. Another woman, newer to the home, was across from Mom. She waved vigorously to get Mom’s attention but Mom didn’t seem to notice.

It registered with me keenly: There’s been a change of seats. Mom, though not expressionless, was spending more time in an inner world. We were approaching full circle in the group home. I felt sad and comforted at the same time, when I realized Mom, and I by her side, were moving through a natural cycle. She had been the person waving, and now she was the person being waved at, the person who was fading.

Those were poignant moments when I was aware of time passing – living it and observing it at the same time. It gave me consolation to notice the interconnectedness of it all. Our seats are constantly changing, are they not? As they do, our perspective broadens and our understanding deepens.

What are you able to see from where you are seated now?  Who sits across from you?

_____

Note: Names have been changed for privacy.