A friend of ours passed away this week. She was just barely eighty years old and had lived well, for decades, with a chronic health condition.
Our initial role in her life was to help manage her chronic health condition because changing cognitive skills were making it tough for her to manage on her own. But we knew that our equally beneficial role in her life was about companionship.
Because we were able to help her manage her physical health in a dementia-supportive way, we also got to tend to her emotional well-being, so that her time with us was not a reminder of her failures, but instead a chance for her to be her, and share her memories.
This is how we get it right when cognitive changes let us know that help is needed: we focus on relating in a dementia-supportive way, on meeting their emotional needs using the tools of the DAWN Method, which means that folks get the real help they need, but in a way that does not undermine their dignity, autonomy, or self-respect.
It was our privilege to hear about her life. We heard about her growing up in the beautiful eastern United States and being an elementary teacher who used her love of art to inspire student learning. About her parents who were far ahead of their time in helping her manage her childhood-onset health condition and who provided a rich experience of life for their kids. And even siblings with whom she spoke often, whom she loved well.
We heard about the daughter she loved so deeply. And the superstar grandkids who made her eyes light up each time she spoke of them. A husband who died far younger than she would have liked. The struggle in moving across the country to live near family, and the adjustments that required.
Our friend had stories of stories that her Mom wrote about. Memories upon memories, and we enjoyed hearing each of them.
Yes, we accomplished the skilled part of helping her manage her health condition. But the real skill came in helping her learn by experience that when we showed up, it meant happy times. That when she saw our faces on her doorstep, it meant that she would have the chance to share her stories, laugh with us, and be herself. We enjoyed hearing about her life, stories, and memories each time that we had the privilege of being with her.
Thank you, friend, for giving us the gift of knowing you. We will miss you.
Fondly,
Jill
