Lynn sent this email to me. I m posting this with her permission. I find it quite touching and wanted to share it with everyone. Thank you Lynn!
A very poignant moment occurred yesterday. I thought I’d share it with you.
My mother had previously lived, for two years, in the intermediate unit at her facility, a secure unit. I don’t recall when Susie moved in but it was when my mother’s LBD had already progressed quite a bit. I noticed some LBD characteristics that seemed to be around Susie but it was hard to be sure. Her family visited often, keeping on top of things.
Little did I know that they had been observing my mother, curious about some of her traits. After some time, one son approached me, telling me that his mother had just been diagnosed with LBD with Parkinsons and asking questions. I printed out information from the LBDA webpage and gave them to him on our next meeting. He, with tears in his eyes, remarked about the decline he saw in his mother.
Mom was moved to the advanced unit about seven months ago. In that time, I haven’t seen Susie more than a few times. She always acknowledges me but I don’t see her smile now. I haven’t seen her family since the move, either, because Mom and Susie are in different areas in the facility.
Yesterday, I stopped at the unit manager’s office which is directly across from the nurse’s office. While there, the nurse popped in to ask me to bring Mom to her office to discuss recent labwork with the visiting physician.
Susie was there, also waiting to see the physician. I greeted her and had a brief exchange. She said she was doing okay…I told her how good she looked and that I hoped we would see one another again. Moments later, as I moved Mom to that area, Susie’s position had changed. She had apparently seen the physician and was waiting to be wheeled back to her unit. It was necessary to stop Mom’s wheelchair so I could move a chair to clear a safe path. Susie and Mom were facing each other and I could see that Susie was trying to reach out to Mom. I adjusted Mom’s wheelchair so that she could better see Susie. The tremor in Susie’s hand was very obvious as she reached out to Mom. She gently took Mom’s hand and patted it softly. She looked deeply into Mom’s eyes and Mom into hers. I asked Susie if she remembered my mother and she nodded her head that she did.
Mom continued to look deeply into Susie’s eyes, hoping for some glimmer of recognition but it wasn’t there. Susie continued to hold Mom’s hand until the care manager came to take her back to her unit. It’s emotionally difficult to replay this scene mentally on one level because it was one LBD patient trying to connect with another LBD patient. I never saw Susie reach out like that when Mom was sharing space with her in the past. In my heart of hearts, I wonder if it isn’t a matter of two friends recognizing that they are taking the same journey…one that is very different than the journey of others sharing their space.
There is a sad side to this story but there is also a joyful side to it if you consider the unspoken connection these two women share…they communicated through looking into one another’s eyes and, perhaps, souls.
Lynn in Florida
Weighting Around Joke
— Sue Gibson
A colleague was planning a trip to my business office and asked if I could find him a hotel with exercise facilities. I called several hotels, with no luck.
Finally I thought I had found one. I asked the receptionist if the hotel had a weight room.
“No,” she replied, “but we have a lobby and you can wait there.”