Tuesday, January 10, 2017
I’ve had some time to think about my friend John. He was such a sweet, gentle man, and always happy to see me when I would come visit him. We’d sing together and he even liked to play a little keyboard I would sometimes bring with me. If he was having a good day we’d play cards or tic-tac-toe. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember the rules to the game. His brow would wrinkle as he looked over the cards he was dealt or as he thought about where to place the next X or O on the board. But his favorite thing to do besides music was to roll a small ball across the table. We could do that for an hour or more just rolling it back and forth between the two of us. Or sometimes our friend Jim would join in. John didn’t say much, but if you made the effort to connect with him he would open up and share things with you. Once when I was talking to a couple other residents whose dementia was not as advanced as John’s he surprised me by joining in our conversation when a couple of the other guys were asking me where I worked. I was telling them I worked in an office and did payroll and billings and accounts receivable for a company. Don said “I used to do payroll” and I asked him where he worked and he said at the Farmer’s Coop. I asked Jim where he worked and he said at Weyerhauser in the maintenance department. I asked “mopping floors?” and he said “No, fixing the machinery when it broke down.” “Did it break down a lot?” I asked. “Shit, every day!” he chuckled. And then John said he worked in an office for RCA records. And he added “in Camden New Jersey.” Wow! Here I thought this quiet man could hardly talk, let alone follow a conversation and join in. Out of curiosity, I tried to do a little research. The best I could do was find a copy of John’s wife’s obituary online and it stated they had once lived in Camden New Jersey. I learned a lot about Alzheimer’s disease and dementia that day, and John helped me realize that even those in the advanced stages of the disease still had lucid moments. More importantly, people like John still have a lot to give if only we include them in our conversations and activities. So each time I visited at Golden Living-Three oaks I made sure I took time to sit and talk with John. He always had a big smile and a handshake for me. And at the end of each visit when I would say my goodbyes, he’d shake my hand and hang on and was slow to let go. I’ll be back to see you again soon. “You promise?” he’d say. John was one of the hardest people to say goodbye to. I guess that’s why it has been hard for me to write about my memories of our friendship. There was so much about him that reminded me of my own dad, especially when he’d wear a hat and he’d sit in the recliner chair. My dad died young, from cancer. And I often thought that if he had lived into his 80’s he’d look a lot like John. He liked it when I played my guitar and sang, and the one song I always knew that would get him going was “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” He remembered all the words and often we would sing it more than once. He also liked to call me “pal” and he’d wave at me whenever he saw me. John’s gentle spirit and kind eyes touched me deeply and I was saddened to hear of his passing. I am going to miss him but I will continue to remember and treasure the visits I had with him over the last few years. I have made a donation in his memory to Marshfield Area Purple Angels so that more volunteers can continue to enhance the lives of those with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia.
