What We Gain from The Loss of Time

Photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash

I’ve been stirring the pot these last few months, most notably with my unpopular opinion on the linguistic legitimacy of “Irregardless,” as well as my stance on cancel culture.

But today, I’m marinating on a more serious topic, add a sprinkling of seriousness and a heaping tablespoon of feelings around a different loss of context and time.

I’m talking about Alzheimer’s disease and dementia.

Sadly, these cognitive diseases have touched so many loved ones slowly and relentlessly. And it can be excruciating for the rest of us as we watch the minds of our loved ones drift irrevocably into a different time and space.

But what if there’s another way to look at it?

A few years ago, I drove my college BFF to visit her mother in a memory care facility. Sadly, Jan’s dementia was so advanced that she called every male she encountered by her high school boyfriend’s name.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know who she was...she didn’t know when she was.

Now, nobody’s ever accused me of being a wallflower, but that day I hung back quietly during the visit, trying to respect their privacy together...when all of the sudden I heard my friend say:

“Mom, I brought a surprise visitor for you.”

And she ripped open the hospital curtain like a game show host, only to reveal me sitting there reading my magazine.

“Oh Judi!” said her mother, recognizing me right away even though she hadn’t seen me since Mom jeans were in style the first time, “I can’t believe it’s you!”

The look on Jan’s face, her pure joy and surprise, is seared on my memory and fills my heart with love in its purest form whenever I recall it.

Without batting an eye, I greeted Jan warmly and swooped in for a hug. Then she clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re here, Judi. I’m going to make you some cabbage soup.”

To which I replied with unfettered enthusiasm, “I can’t WAIT!”

How exactly did she remember me when she can barely remember her own children?

Well, I’m nothing if not memorable.

We continued our conversation about cabbage soup, with Jan listing the ingredients, including the secret one (which has and will remain a secret), and regaling me with other stories of her youth.

Mind you, I’ve never had her cabbage soup, and in fact, I’m not a fan of cabbage in general (unless it’s coleslaw). But remaining and engaging with Jan exactly when she was at her moment in time was my way of staying present with her.

Those of you who have been through memory care with a loved one know how heartbreaking it can be. But If we can find one small shred of silver lining, it’s the gift of time travel. With the most wonderful of travel guides.

We can cherish these sacred moments before they are gone. We’ve been granted the chance to connect with our loved one, but in a different context and through a different lens.

We need to meet them when they are.

And where they are, the memories are sweet, and the cabbage soup is delicious.