We arrive. It’s time to pick up our beloved ones.
They have spent the last four and a half hours in the care of the incredible team of women who run this day care for adults with dementia. In our family we just call it “The Club,” as in “Time to go to The Club, Mom!”
The Club is a happy place. Laughter, smiles, singing, BINGO, balloon volleyball (sitting down and aided by cut-off pool noodle bats), coloring, painting, lots of talking. The “members” of The Club range in age from early-ish seventies to ninety-four. In previous chapters of their lives they were caregivers, attorneys, professors – normal, healthy people living normal lives. Dementia has stolen all of that away from them.
Pick up time is 3:00. If we arrive early, we might join in on a “Name That Tune” game or BINGO. We get a report from the caregivers on our loved one’s day. We greet our loved one’s friends. We greet our own compatriots as they arrive – daughters, sons, wives, husbands.
There is so much love here. The care given by the ladies who work here goes way beyond what is required. And the tenderness with which my fellow family caregivers shepherd their dear ones to waiting cars always touches my heart. There is joy here, and sadness, and strength. It makes me proud to count myself among their number.
There is so much ugliness in the world of humans. There always has been. But the level to which it has risen in the last six months has quite literally taken away my ability to communicate here on this blog.
For the last week or so, though, I have been paying closer attention to the humans who go to The Club and the humans who care for them. And I found some of my words again.
Love,
Michelle xoxo