Alzheimer's: A moment of kindness
In my previous blogpost this month, I reminisced about happy times in the WRAL Azalea Gardens with my mom.
After her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, the gardens were a place we enjoyed visiting together when she would come stay with me. Thinking about our experiences last week brought up a milestone memory for me early in Mom’s dementia journey.
We learned that moments of kindness mean so much.
Each spring, Capitol Broadcasting hosts an Easter egg hunt, a party for CBC employees and their children. Mom went with me, Alicia and my husband several times, including the spring right after her dementia diagnosis.
When we arrived that year, we felt vulnerable. We were still shaken by the news that my mother, who was only 64 at the time, was already slipping. She and I had no idea how quickly she would lose her hold on us. (Thankfully we were one of the lucky families, in that the disease progressed somewhat slowly for a good while.)
As we walked up to the station, Sloane Heffernan, one of many employees who came to enjoy the festivities, and her husband arrived with her young family. At the time Sloane was a reporter for WRAL (and is currently a WRAL Family contributor). My mom loved babies and was immediately drawn to the stroller Sloane was pushing.
Again, I was so nervous, but Sloane and her husband immediately welcomed Mom to ooh and aah over their new little one, chatting with her, smiling and laughing. That moment of welcome changed the whole trajectory of the morning for me. And for Mom.
Work acquaintances, Sloane and I knew each other enough to chat at company events. She likely had no idea what was going on with my mom. But she and her husband ended up making a huge difference for us that day. Mom and I had felt tentative, but that positive moment did the equivalent of helping us breathe out anxiety and breathe in kindness and calm.
So many times along Mom’s dementia journey we received moments of kindness from people who had no idea how much they meant.
I remember Dad talking about one of their trips to the grocery store. Keep in mind my dad had never really shopped much for groceries, and suddenly he was in charge. In those early days when Mom could still cook, he would have to decipher what she needed. He told me multiple instances of kind people noticing the two of them standing puzzled in the aisle, shoppers who helped him figure out which flour Mom would need for what kind of recipe or where to find an item in the store.
The woman who did Mom’s hair who lovingly taught Dad how to comb and tease it just right. A kind waitress who noted a “to go” cup with a lid and straw would be better suited to Mom’s declining abilities. Someone holding open a door, a welcoming smile.
I try so hard now to pass on those moments of loving kindness. It doesn’t cost a thing, so, sprinkle it around all you can. It might be a second for you, but a salve, a game changer, for someone else.
