WHAT THE ELDERLY OFFER ME EVERY DAY

I have a job that most people avoid. It’s not like I’m a funeral director or a garbage hauler, but I do work with the elderly with dementia. I didn’t realize it would be so meaningful and enjoyable when I interviewed for the job. I knew I wanted to use some of the love in my heart, but I had no idea how much it would take.

I’ve learned a great deal since working with the residents, as we call them. I’ve had people ask me if they are like children, as if they are wide-eyed innocents, open to the world. Really, they aren’t, except in one regard; they are constantly changing. They don’t change because they’re gaining skills like toddlers, though sometimes they adapt in surprising ways. Their personalities sometimes make great leaps and they soften, or become belligerent, or get lost. I find myself explaining what I’m doing and narrating my movements and intentions around them. We’re going to the lunch room now. Now we’re going to hear someone play the guitar. I’m the guide in a bewildering world.

The elderly aren’t going toward adulthood, but traveling quickly away from it. They look to me for help. Why is this happening to me, they ask. What am I supposed to be doing? Am I in the right place? Why can’t I go home? Some of them become anxious about their long-dead parents; she’s in the hospital, I need a ride to the hospital.

I often find myself saying “We aren’t going to do that right now, we’ll eat dinner first,” or something to that effect.

I never knew them when they were young, but I love them where they are now. It’s the waiting room before they ease out of this world, and if they repeat themselves a lot I understand, because really, you can never be entirely sure you said something the first time.

One thing I thoroughly enjoy is singing with the residents. They remember the words to so many songs they heard as a young person and they really come alive, fully masters of the moment.