“You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.” —Woody Allen
As a geriatric nurse and lifelong caregiver, I have noticed that some people have a gift of looking at life through the lens of humor. Other people–not so much. At Maple Cottage, our family‘s free-standing cottage-style memory care unit in Hendersonville, TN, we are blessed to have some residents of that first type. These are folks so well-adjusted, so self-actualized, and so trusting, that while they know they are losing old memories and failing to make new ones, they are so committed to living in the moment that their natural reaction to nearly everything is joy. It is inspiring to watch. I have observed that these special folks have a few things in common, and this is important to me, because if I am ever faced with progressive cognitive decline of any kind, I want to have lived in a way that prepares me to live well and bless others, even in the midst of that decline. Here is what these folks seem to have in common:
A rock-solid faith base – a belief that God is in and through all things, and that his essential goodness is sufficient for any challenge. And to a person, they wear this belief lightly, easily, never in a preachy or officious way. They just own it and enjoy it.
A cohesive, loving extended family – nobody’s perfect, and family is inherently messy and chaotic. But in each case, there seems to be an understanding that Mom or Dad gave it everything they had when we were growing up, and now we have the opportunity to love on them in a meaningful and impactful way. They are present, and yet they respect the lines between their lives and Mom or Dad’s life. They give them space, and there is a “wholeness” to the family unit that is both simple and awe-inspiring.
A philosophy that includes everyone – everyone with memory loss knows, on some level, that the future looks different than this day. And yet, many reach forward into that difficult future by reaching out to another person who is further along on this journey of memory loss and dysfunction. I recently watched one of our residents playfully and lovingly serenade another resident who is much further along on their path of Alzheimer’s. It was a sacrificial gift, given with joy and love and no small dose of heroism. Apparently, viewing life—and memory loss—through the lens of humor requires courage.
An appreciation for great food – no, really! When was the last time you slurped down a root beer float with wild abandon, caring neither about spills nor calories nor indigestion? When our residents do this, I see it as proof positive that, in the midst of dementia, there are still moments of great sensorial joy. Living in harmony with the body while also retreating from it is a dance mastered by few; I am convinced the music for that dance is an internal humor that transcends cognitive ability.
A willingness to say “OK, I’ll give it a try!” – Wanna go for walk? Want me to do your nails? Wanna make some chocolate-chip cookies? Or the perennial favorite (I have no earthly idea why), wanna play Bingo? Even if the question is not really comprehended, some folks will always say, Sure! Others will always say no, or just fail to respond. Again, this appears to have nothing to do with cognition, and everything to do with the person’s innate spirit, curiosity and humor.
So what does any of this matter? Perhaps it doesn’t. But every day, I am inspired by the residents we care for at Maple Cottage. I am watching and learning. I am moved, and I am impressed. In the face of losing so much, one’s memories, one’s functional abilities and sometimes even one’s self-identity, some things remain. Humor appears to me to be one of those things. Even as I grow older each day, knowing this eases my fear, and lets me believe that I will be OK, that perhaps we will all be OK.
