Oh sweet Nana, I can only imagine what you would have thought about the state of the world right now. You lived through World War II, decades of military life, your husband’s sudden passing on your 50th wedding anniversary. You were one of the kindest people who has ever been a part of the world. Your gentle soul and fragile body would have struggled with living in a long term care facility right now, without a doubt.
When you started to show progressive signs of dementia, it became evident that we needed to place you in a long term care facility for your own safety. That time you went to find some new shoes at the mall and lost your way was the last straw.
I loved calling you and chatting with you, even when you didn’t know who I was. As your dementia worsened, so did your filter. Once a prim and proper military wife, you decided that nothing should be left unsaid in your old age. You could barely hear a thing so the questions I did ask were often misinterpreted— leading to amazing conversations about things I never thought you would say.
“Hi Nana, how are you doing?”
“Oh, anyone I can”. Was a particular favorite of mine.
This week I remembered the time I called you and said this:
“Hi Nana, what are you doing today?“
“Nothing. What did I do yesterday? Nothing. What will I be doing tomorrow? Probably nothing”.
I thought this was so funny at the time. Your crass conversation and honesty about how much you hated living in the senior’s home. But now, I get it. I’m so sorry that your lost hope was funny to me.
You see, sweet Nana. I have lived a small fraction of time in isolation in comparison to you. We have been in isolation in our home for just over a month now and we haven’t been able to see our friends or family in person. We talk over the phone, we video chat— but it’s not the same. I cry often because I miss my people. We have our entire house to live in, and our health, and each other — all things that you didn’t have. And back then, I never could feel empathy that you had lost more than your home and your independence—- I assumed that because of your dementia you didn’t really understand. I assumed that because you were safe, you were okay. But I see now, you were not okay.
I would take back those moments of flippant early 20’s ignorance in a second if I could, but regret doesn’t change what I didn’t know back then. What I can do is pay it forward to those who don’t have a voice. I know this would make you proud.
Sweet Nan, I understand now how hard isolation was. My isolation can not even compare to what you must have felt in your last, precious years of life. No one deserves to feel that type of loneliness— and my promise to you is that I will make a difference to someone else. And while I am sure there is no internet in heaven and you’re likely not one of my 7 followers, I hope that this perspective will help others give to seniors who are living alone. I miss you every day and this can be another part of your beautiful legacy.
Love always, Sammy