While we laughed much during the week-long training with Memory Bridge, some of the discussions were quite serious. Probably the most sobering discussion for me concerned repetitive motions and jumbled speech. The presenter, Naomi Feil, encouraged us to see repetitive motions and speech patterns as a sort of last ditch effort at communication. That is not the cheeriest of ideas to ponder, but it does remind me that we humans just seem built for communication. We sing. We dance. We share ideas. We play instruments when words seem inadequate or beyond our grasp. We laugh and cry. Therefore, even when a brain is severely impaired, it makes sense that a person will continue to try express something from deep within. Consequently, even when we can do little else to communicate with an elder (or anyone else), we can at least mirror the motion or the speech. I have done this with speech and have actually been able to decipher a few words. However, I had never thought about mirroring repetitive motions. Naomi urged us to believe that even when clarity does not surface for us, the elder might have a sense of being heard, of being in communication, of maybe even being in relationship. Definitely worth trying.
I thought of these discussions yesterday as I was driving south on 280 on my way to a home dedicated to the care of the memory impaired. Despite the transportation woes that many are experiencing because of the BART strike, the traffic on 280 was light. I had my Sam Cooke Pandora station on, and as I drove and sang right out loud, I felt happiness. I also felt a desire to be driving a manual transmission. The urge surprised me. I could not remember driving a manual transmission for many years.
Yet, later in the day, I remembered a very fun car that I drove for a couple of years - a 1970 Datsun 510 that I purchased for $675. I named it Mad Max because it had the look of a worn survivor, if for no other reason than the body of the car was faded green, and the hood was gray and slightly battered. However, the car never failed as it zipped around corners and in and out of traffic and parking spaces. And yes, it had a manual transmission. When I drove it on the freeway, the need for a fifth gear was always apparent because the car whined when the breathtaking speed of 65 miles an hour was reached. Even so, I don't ever remember wishing the car had an automatic transmission. I loved to drive it just the way it was, even with only four gears. Do I want to return to driving a manual transmission everyday? No, but the memory of that car makes me smile.
Certainly, this memory resides in my brain, but it was first experienced by me in my body, stimulated by a desire to shift gears. This was a response to a good driving day and fun music. I am blessed to be out in the world, responding to a wide variety of sights, sounds, conversations, and memories. However, this is not true for many of our frail elders whose sense of isolation can cause them to withdraw further and further within. Communication takes effort and energy. It also takes people who care enough to reach out in a supportive and loving way. Otherwise, the frail among us are at a very real risk of languishing in increasing darkness. If we can help keep the lamps burning and in sight, we just might be able to find our way into relationship. Love can be kindled at any age, and really, the more light the better.
Blessed be.
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