Sometimes you wonder, don’t you?

This is lifted from an article Barb’s doctor sent to me.   The writer captures the situation flawlessly.

Step into her world. She is still there.

Sometimes you wonder, don’t you? If she were still the one you knew and loved, why would she look at you that way, so blankly? How could your face and touch be so unfamiliar to her at times, when it used to be so comforting? After all you do to care for her, why on earth would she lash out at you, why would she insult you and try to hurt you? How could anything, even this, make her forget you? And why does she always look for home?

You’ve tried to bring her back, to lead her by the hand to life with you again. There are those moments, those awakenings, in which you feel you’ve broken through. But then it returns: the drifting back into the fog of unawareness. And the spark is gone.

Her world is sometimes one of darkness, of wandering, of isolation. She often sees and experiences things she should recognize and know, but cannot understand them. Warped perceptions of reality close in on her existence, at times evoking panic and fear. She tries to escape to something she knows, something which will comfort her and give her peace. But every door leads only to another unfamiliar room, cluttered like a patternless gauntlet. Her life seems like a room with a keyless, locked door.

But yet you know some seed of her must still be there. You see it at times, beautiful and true. May’s rose is a still a rose in December, is it not? Do petals touched make the plant? Does blossoming perfume make the flower, or something more? Is a garden loved in winter as in spring?

How can this loved one be reached? You know her soul’s light still burns. Can dementia’s frozen walls be broken so that hearthside warmth of home again is known?    —thanks, Dr. G.

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