Christ in the mist

A group of four elderly women residents in my dad’s nursing home frequently gather outside of their rooms during the day to talk to one another. I often stop to chat on my way to my dad’s room. They ask me how the weather feels outside, admire an item of clothing or jewelry that I happen to wear that day and always thank me for taking the time to visit with them.

On one particular day, their conversation seemed unusually serious. As I passed the group, Josephine put her hand on my sleeve.

“Would you mind answering a question for us?” she asked.

 “I’ll try,” I answered and braced myself to call for a staff member if the question turned into a medical issue.

“We can’t remember if we ate lunch. We’re all trying to remember if we ate in our rooms or if we went to the dining room but none of us can recall eating. Can you tell us if we ate lunch or not?” Their bewilderment was earnest. I summoned the strength not to smile in amusement.

“Well, let’s figure this out,” I said seriously. “Are you hungry?” I asked them.

The four women looked at one another while considering the question with deep contemplation.

“No, I’m not,” Josephine finally responded. “Are you?” she asked the others. They all shook their heads and replied that they did not feel hungry.

“Well then, I guess you ate,” I said.

A look of enormous relief passed over the faces of the four women.

“Well that’s a relief,” Josephine said. “Thank you for answering our question,” and with that, Josephine turned her walker around to return to her room, satisfied that she and her friends ate lunch. “I hope it was good,” she added as she continued her stroll down to the hall.

            Whether dementia is the result of old arteries or the outcome of a stroke or displays itself as aphasia or Alzheimer’s Disease, the plague of memory loss can torment its victims as much as any illness. People who suffer forgetfulness can appear as ships lost in a deep fog adrift on an ocean of vagueness, anger and depression. I cared for my grandmother in her elder years. When she could no longer describe the agitation brought on by her stroke and subsequent aphasia, she would simply exclaim, “Good night.” My mother suffered the same effects of a stroke that morphed into Alzheimer’s Disease. “I want to split my head wide open to let the light in,” she would tell me in her attempt to describe the darkness that engulfed her. Rainy days, winter, fog – any day without sunshine would quadruple the ‘dark’ effect of forgetfulness. I meet these people on the wards of the nursing home every day.

            One day, I passed a resident in the hall. She appeared not to recognize me even though I passed by her for months on a daily basis. The woman could only utter a high pitched squeal followed by a bleat laugh in a lower octave. The pattern occurred around the clock unless the woman slept. On this particular day as I passed her in the hall, I stopped and touched her cheek. Her countenance never changed and her continued to utter her sounds. But as she did so, she took my hand from her cheek and placed it on her lips. She kissed my hand. Christ, hidden in the mystery of madness.

I’ve learned from these wisdom figures and teachers. Within their haze of amnesia lies their person, whole and intact, remembering. They will take every kindness shown them to the heavenly Jerusalem, where I will encounter them again someday in their fullness. “I remember you,” they will tell me. “You saw me when others did not.” Christ lies hidden within the mist. Seek him and he will show himself.

My dad’s nursing home produces a monthly newsletter of pictures and highlights of the many programs, liturgies, outstanding staff and beautiful residents who participate as a community of faith and fellowship in this house of elders. I found this prayer on its back page. Somehow the prayer seems all the more real because of the anonymity of its author.

The Alzheimer's Prayer         Author Unknown

Lord, give my visitors tolerance when I am confused.

Help them to forgive my irrational behavior.

Give them grace to walk with me

into the mist of memory that my world has become.

Please let them take my hand and stay awhile,

even when I seem unaware of their presence

 Help them to know how their love, their strength and care will drift slowly

into the days to come and just when I need it the most.

Let them know that when I do not recognize them that I will...I will.

Keep their hearts free from sorrow for me,

for my sorrow, when it comes, only lasts a moment

and then it is gone.

And finally Lord,

please let them know and believe how very much their visits mean,

how through this relentless mystery, I can still feel their love.

Amen.