Invisible Connection

(Time Period: Throughout Mom’s time in the care home.)

A Lesson in Mindfulness

When it is no longer possible to communicate with our loved ones the way we used to, how does connection occur? It was natural to wonder about Mom’s ability to connect with us. Was she understanding what we were saying? Was she feeling comforted by our presence? The answers to these questions were not always apparent. This led me to realize there was something else to explore: my own ability to connect with her.

It was in this way that Alzheimer’s became a lesson in mindfulness. Without being able to reminisce about the past, there was only the present. Seeing what was in front of me, feeling what there was to feel, and raising my awareness was the way to being connected with Mom and to all the others who were with us in this experience.

In the present, I felt the warmth of Mom’s hand or the softness of her cheek. I detected the scent of mint growing in the clay pot near our chairs in the back yard. I absorbed her smiles that replaced the need for words. Even on the days when she was detached, the opportunities were in each moment.

Just as it had with other aspects of this time with Mom, connection became a practice. More than any one technique, it was something to open to and allow.

What is Here?

Memory care and nursing homes have been called “heaven’s waiting room.” A phrase I heard often, it was the cynical implication that bothered me, that it was only a place to die. Then it occurred to me that rather than reject the expression, I could embrace it. Instead of viewing this waiting room as a meaningless void, I thought:

If this is heaven’s waiting room, this is an important place. What is here?

“Here” there were physical and emotional needs that changed daily. Here, plainly evident, were signs of decline.

But what else was here? If there were such a thing as heaven’s waiting room, what would the purpose be and what would happen there?

Considering the questions formed the answers. These elders were in the process of transitioning from the physical world, the world that is seen, to another world that is unseen. There was something else that needed tending. It wasn’t just a time of waiting, but of preparation.

I was beginning to understand that this waiting room was a spiritually important place and time. On certain visits, I made a point of taking it in. My eyes would scan the room to see:

The elders in their chairs, each in various states: calm and content, detached or agitated, nodding off or awake and looking for companionship.

Caregivers administering medicine, preparing dinner, or answering the door.

Various service providers and visitors coming and going.

Those were the things that were visible, the surface observations. Then my mind would turn to what else was going on. I would think about all the love that was flowing, all the time. The exchange of giving and receiving was palpable. Without words, it was being said: You matter. You are not alone. To those who were anxious or struggling on a given day, to those who were peaceful. I would look around and bless each person silently: the caregivers, the family members, the elders. Each on an individual path and still, we were together.

Taking just a few moments to do, this became an active meditation on love, one I could do with my eyes open: What is here to see?

In this place, we would wait together. And with an open heart, a current of connection was detectible. It flowed constantly.

An Active Meditation

Simple, accessible, and sometimes single-worded prayers rose to mind. My eyes surveyed the room and rested on each person for a moment: Bless, bless, bless you.

Prayer began as a question that I held silently for each elder: What graces do you need in this moment, at this point in your process? May you receive them today. May your heart open to them, even if your mind is unable.

There are infinite ways to pray and we each have our preferred ways of doing so. A prayer that my sister’s friend gave her was easily memorized and I kept it close during this time:

The light of God surrounds me.
The love of God enfolds me.
The power of God protects me.
The presence of God watches over me.
Wherever I am, God is!

Years later I learned that it was James Dillet Freeman who authored this prayer during World War II and entitled it “Prayer of Protection.” Astronaut Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin carried it with him on the first flight to the moon. (1)

It was this prayer that came to mind while sitting in the family room with Mom and the other elders. It began with a focus on Mom and me and then expanded, as if by concentric circles, to everyone in the home. Taking a breath with each line of the prayer, I folded everyone into it, including the residents who were in their own rooms and sleeping: The light of God surrounds us… The love of God enfolds us…

This was the invisible connection that I felt and knew was real. It was heart to heart and soul to soul. In those moments and despite anything disturbing that was happening on the surface, I learned to trust: Love is here. All is well. We are connected.

Note:

(1) James Dillet Freeman, “The Story of The Prayer of Protection,” unity.org, https://www.unity.org/en/article/story-prayer-protection