The best things in life are the people we love, the places we’ve been,
and the memories we’ve made along the way. – Unknown
Memories are awesome.
They connect us to the people, places and experiences of the past, can comfort and reassure us in the present, and help fuel our visions for the future.
Take a breath and think about some of your most poignant memories. Let the emotions that come with them wash over you. Go ahead. I’ll wait…
My most vivid memories involve people and are a combination of life’s most embarrassing, painful, and joyful moments. Mom plays a staring role in many of them. They remind me how much I love life and am loved. I replay them often – maybe too often but hey, they’re my memories so I’ll binge watch as much as I like.
When those living with dementia lose the ability to remember, they begin to lose parts of themselves and, by extension, their connection to us.
The timing and depth of these losses can be unpredictable. It is undeniably sad for all. On the positive side, I have learned that when patients with dementia forget specifics from the past, they often overcome the loss with, let’s say…. heightened creativity. For example…
Soon after Dad had been diagnosed with vascular dementia, he inserted himself as a character in a drama that we had all heard about for years. It goes something like this…. When she was a teenager, Mom was hit by a car and pinned beneath the front tire. This tragedy had always been her story to tell – and she told it oh so well. However, at this particular Thanksgiving telling, Dad recounted the story with a twist -- he cast himself as the hero who courageously moved the car to save the trapped lady and love of his life!
The looks my kids exchanged across the feast as they clued into the rewrite of their Grandpa’s heroic tale were hysterical. They knew he hadn’t been present at the accident because it was known that he had been off somewhere racking up points in a football, hockey or basketball game. No one said a word. Everyone smiled and we created yet another memory.
One day, not long after reminiscing about Dad’s superhero appearance, the significance of Mom’s failing memory took on new significance for me. I realized that much of my family history was in jeopardy of being lost. I decided we needed to do something about this, so I stole a brilliant idea from the internet.
We’d use the basis of the service that emailed clients one question each week for a year, then compiled and bound their responses into a beautiful book. We didn’t have a year and I was cheap so it needed to ready yesterday and be a bit more budget-friendly.
I bought a binder and crafted 115 questions….
How did your favourite teacher change your life? When are you happiest? What do you love most about my brother, my sister, me? What was the most shocking thing your mother ever said to you? What’s the best advice you were ever given?
I created pages with one question at the top of each, single-sided sheet. This left lots of blank space for writing answers, drawing pictures, and inserting photos. I made a fancy cover (Cricuts are beyond fabulous! I am right?!). I wrote a lovely intro and added a beautiful photo of her. Ta da!
I was so proud when I presented it to her……until I wasn’t.
On my next visit, I went to see what Mom had written in her beautiful, budget-friendly book and learned that although she could still read like a champ, Mom could no longer write down her thoughts.
At first, I was devasted. How could I have not known this? How could I have embarrassed her by asking her to do something that I thought was so simple but was so difficult for her?
After beating myself up for being so insensitive to her reality yet again, it was time to make some adjustments. Failure was not an option. Our family history was not going to be lost.
I decided I would write her book with her.
I would ask her the questions and write down whatever she said. Easy peasy… Right? Wrong... again.
Sometimes she didn’t like the question so we’d try another. Some days she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say or was too tired to try to recall the past. I often got responses that were not remotely tied to the original question. Luckily however, most times she would lean up against me, smile, take on her story-telling posture and spew a stream of consciousness that would fascinate and entertain me.
I was looking to record pieces of her history. It quickly became very clear that she would not be talking about herself. Every time I asked her a question designed to tell me more about her, she would quickly switch the narrative to be a reflection on the qualities of someone else.
The people of her past came to life through animated sessions.
It was a wonderful experience for me. I learned a lot about the people in my mom's life --especially the friends and family who had helped shape her thoughts, beliefs and values. I learned even more about her.
Each story she told underscored who she was at her core. Mom believes everyone is extraordinary, has value, and is deserving of respect and praise. The experience reminded me how incredibly fortunate I am to have had this positive beacon of light, who sees the very best in everyone, shape my thoughts, beliefs and values.
The budget binder of memories is likely one of the most valuable gifts I've received from Mom. The project served its purpose to preserve some of our family history but the real value was much deeper and more beautiful than I could have imagined.
Lessons Learned
Family history is priceless; find a way to preserve it now - writings, recordings, and photos can all work.
Embrace the stories as told – regardless of the factual accuracy.
Don’t wait too long – ask questions now so you have a compendium to share when your loved one loses the ability to remember on their own.
Share the memories to help bring the past to life today and in the future.
During the recording of history, you may find you are also making it.