❤To love a person is to learn the song that is in their heart, and to sing it to them when they have forgotten." unknown ❤
Recently while shopping with my son for groceries, he suddenly said, “I see Olive.” Olive was the former owner of a Montessori school he attended eight years ago. He was five when he graduated from the program to go onto grade one and now he is completing eighth grade. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw a woman standing near the produce section.
I thought to myself, yes, she does resemble Olive but there was something different about her. She was slighter, her hair was longer, and it looked as though it was long overdue for a hair appointment. I observed her silently for a few moments. The Olive I remember was always perfectly groomed which this lady was not.
Before I knew it she came almost to where we were standing, making it difficult to ignore her. I smiled and said hi. Looking somewhat befuddled she returned my smile. I pointed to my son and said to her, I imagined he looks nothing like you remember him. She agreed. Stating that she just saw a lady a few minutes ago that she recognized but couldn’t put a name to her face. Then she said if my son was not with me she might not have recognized me. I told her it was my son who recognized her earlier. She replied, that children recognize adults readily because to them adults don’t change much, but to adults the transformation in the children is so much greater. I totally agree.
Our brief conversation was mostly filled with banal chitchat. I watched her a few moments more after we went our separate ways; she seemed to be aimlessly wondering around the store, her hands, empty of any food.
She occupied my mind for a few days after our encounter. I replayed our meeting in my mind, and I am certain she is in the early stages of some type of dementia. I could be wrong, but the signs in retrospect seem quite clear. This is one time I wish I had said more. I wished that I gotten confirmation that she really recognized us. I wished, I asked her if she needed help, if she was looking for anything in particular. I wished that I really listened to her; I wish I knew if she really heard me. I think surely there are times when biting my tongue is not the correct thing to do.
In situations where someone I feel could be experiencing some form of memory loss, I don’t say anything. Perhaps, it is fear that stops me from knowing. Other times when it is obvious that there is some memory loss occurring, I most certainly don’t say anything. Call me chicken.
Once I was told an old friend, a priest I knew from my childhood was in advance stage of dementia. My response to the news was it didn’t matter to me if when I saw him if he didn’t remember me because I had enough memory for the both of us. Our last visit is one I will always hold close to my heart.
At times, words are not necessary because they tend to get in the way of really hearing what's going on.
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