Dementia: Teacher of Presence

Guest Blog Post by Janis McCall:

One of my greatest teachers about Presence has been in spending time with my Dad recently. He has Dementia and lives in a Care Home quite close by in a beautiful big Country Manor type building set in lovely grounds with ancient trees. He has always loved the countryside, watching wildlife, being outdoors, having spent some of his early working life as a Forester and most of his retired years as a mountain climber having “bagged” all the Munroes in Scotland.

Being with someone with Dementia means truly being “in the moment”. In this moment, and the next, and the next – one at a time with no expectations, savouring the beauty and joy in each one. Someone with Dementia may not remember your visit, what you did or said but they do remember how they feel in your presence. As I spend time with Dad, we enjoy each other’s presence, the safety, the familiarity, the love. We share endless moments mostly marvelling over and over again about the beauty all around us – the comical conversations of the Eider Ducks, the warmth of the sun late in November, rare and treasured, the magnificence of the mountains.

I had the privilege of spending the afternoon with the residents, their family members and staff of the Care Home as we all joined in with a Festive Season party. The place was decked out in finery with table cloths hand embroidered in red and gold, best china tea cups and saucers and three tiered cake stands laden with home baking. The husband of one resident even had on his full Highland regalia with kilt, sporran and highland diner jacket. Everyone smart and in party mood. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming. As I looked around the room each resident had a loved one holding their hand or gazing directly into their eyes deep in conversation.

Then the music began – all the old dance hall and Christmas favourites from the 50’s. The entertainer knew his stuff. Everyone sang along. I was amazed how these people who find it hard to communicate, because they lose words and ideas as soon as they are formed, could remember whole songs from way back. As I looked around the room eyes sparkled, hands clapped, a smile on every face. A few couples even got up to dance, reliving their courting days. There was laughter and mischief, the glimpse of the “person” they had once been – just for a while. My Dad knew every song and we belted them out with enthusiasm.

Dementia has taught me the beauty of treasuring the present moment and how you feel in the presence of the people you are with. Love, and music, transcend everything. I am grateful to have been part of this gathering.

(Argyll, Scotland, December 2016)

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