A Caregiver's Spa-ahhh Break

Aaahhhh. Doesn't seem like much, but that spa pedicure and manicure . . . heaven. The foot massage, the leg massage, and then the hand and arm massage. Sooooo good.

I must have needed it badly, it felt so good.

Aaahhhh. Relaaaax. Refresh. Rejuvenate.

I gotta do this more often.

Indeed.

Gosh, it's good.

Rest the mind, rest the body, enter inner peace and tranquility and silence. No worries to sap my energy. Find the place where I reside, in the center there, in the center of the center of the heart. Breathe into it, deeply. It expands, this heart of hearts of mine. It is able now to give back, once again.

I gotta do this more often...

Romeo Plays the Piano in His Nursing Home

I don't put boundaries on myself
when I sit at the piano.
-- Vanessa Carlton

I wheeled Romeo into the activity room, right up to the piano, and set the brakes on his wheelchair. "Will you play something for me?" I asked.

Romeo grew up playing piano. He took lessons until he went away to university. He enjoyed it and was, apparently, quite good. He loves classical music. His favorite composer is Beethoven.

But, until now, Romeo would never play the piano for me, not even a keyboard. He said that he couldn't remember how to play anything, couldn't remember any chords. He wouldn't play for his own enjoyment, for fun. He wouldn't play for the sheer creativity in it. And he wouldn't play for the exercise it would give his brain.

Romeo couldn't get past the idea that he thought he wasn't good at the piano anymore. He was hung up in grieving for the pianist he once was, hung up in sadness that he didn't keep up his playing, hung up in fear that he was no longer good at the piano. This has been going on since we've known each other.

Until now. Without asking, I gently placed him in front of the piano and asked him to play. He smiled, raised his arms, plunked his fingers on the keys, and played for a few minutes. I don't know what he played, he doesn't know what he played. But he played. He played. And he said he will play again.

And the fear that he was experiencing? Gone, apparently. Gone for good? We don't know. Gone because of dementia? Possibly. My little wish is to hear Romeo play often. The next step for him and the piano? I'll bring some sheet music from home, place it at the piano in front of him, and see what happens.

The Fool's Journey With Dementia

Fear Not.
What is not real, never was
and never will be.
What is real, always was
and cannot be destroyed.
-- Bhagavad Gita

Some mornings I'll pick up one of my tarot card decks, ask it to remind me what I need to remember that day, and choose a card. Each time I've done this, a nugget or two of juicy information I probably would not have thought of on my own surfaces to guide not only that day, but the others that follow.

Today's card is The Fool. The photo at the right shows The Fool card from the Rider-Waite tarot deck. Although there are hundreds of tarot decks (if not thousands), the R-W is commonly used to depict the symbolism of the tarot. Many decks are based on the symbolism in the R-W.

But this isn't a blog about tarot, so I'll cut to the chase and tell you what The Fool told me. It relates, of course, to living with Romeo's dementia. I give much of my time to Romeo. I do it because it's required of me, because I want to, because I enjoy being with Romeo, because I want him to be as content and comfortable as possible, because what we have together goes beyond common romantic love, beyond a typical husband/wife relationship.

This journey with dementia that we're in the thick of is the major theme in both of our lives currently. It is quite likely our lives will go on this way for some time yet. Whether or not it does, the longer and further we travel the road, beyond the gates of the city, beyond what is generally considered a life of normalcy, the more Romeo and I must fly by the seat of our pants.

The Fool, you see, represents the both of us, Romeo and Juliet -- not just Juliet, not just Romeo -- but the two of us, each as separate Fools, as well as the two of us combined into one Fool. The Fool reminds us that this dementia trip is no ordinary journey. We are called on to live in a place where anticipation is the norm, where not knowing what will happen next or when it will happen is standard operating procedure. We are called to invoke our courage, to live in a place without fear, to live this wonder tale with joy and gratitude.

As Romeo's dementia progresses, we travel with everything we need already in our possession: courage, love, ecstasy, wonder, intuitive guidance, creativity, innocence, trust. The progression of Romeo's dementia, the fact that I can no longer care for him at home, calls him to draw on each of these characteristics constantly (if he can remember) as he goes about his day. Having dementia is difficult for him.

Romeo's dementia likewise demands that I, as Romeo's caregiver and advocate, continually come from the essence of who I am to stand up for Romeo each moment of every day since he cannot, to love him for who he is (for he is not his dementia), to live our lives together, and to live my own life as well, separate from Romeo. To live with wonder, with ecstasy, without guilt.

It also demands that I ride the waves of creative energies coming my way on the crest of this wonder and ecstasy, that I transform it and transcend it, that I travel without looking where I'm stepping, trusting that a little nip at my heels will be enough to warn me of any impending danger in time to act. And to do it all alone.

As serious as it is to live with dementia, to be a caregiver for someone with dementia, there is much living to be done within it. Romeo and I are on an accelerated journey to...somewhere.

Rotten Bananas in Dementiaville

See the bananas pictured to the left? You'd probably use them to make banana muffins or banana bread, maybe banana pudding. Still others may throw them away.

But not Romeo. Nope. He'd let them sit for three or five more days until they became even blacker. Then he would put one on his breakfast cereal and eat it. He says there is much more nutrition in what I would call a rotten banana. Maybe there is. I haven't researched it. Does anyone reading this know what, exactly, is more nutritious about a rotten banana?

Romeo insists on having his rotten bananas, so I buy a bunch and let them go off (go off: another British term I picked up from Romeo) at home before I bring them to him at the nursing home. I posted a sign in his room, near the bananas:

Attn: Nursing Staff
Please send a banana with Romeo
to breakfast each morning
DO NOT THROW AWAY ANY BANANAS

His rotten banana habit is an oddity. I've overheard some of the staff members talking about it and giggling as they walked down his hallway. Romeo and his rotten bananas. The secret is out. Bananas are inexpensive, and it takes only days for them to go off. And it makes Romeo happy to have them. There's a bit of a trick to keeping them coming each day for him, but I'd do almost anything for him. Even touch a rotten banana. Eeeewww!!!

A Call From Romeo in Dementiaville

My cell phone rang, and I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. "Hello?"

"I love you."

"Romeo?"

"Yes...I love you." His voice broke, as if he were about to cry. I was concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes...I love you."

"Oh, my sweet man."

"And I want to tell you something else. I want to tell you, Juliet, that I love you inside and out." Another break in his voice, caught up with emotion. "Where are you?"

"I'm waiting for the SUV. It's in for an oil change."

"Oh."

"I'm coming to see you after it's done."

"Oh. The reason why I said I love you inside and out is because..."

More cracks in his voice, emotions seeping through, and now my eyes wet.

"...you know that I love who you are as a person, the inner you."

"Yes."

"But I also want you to know that you are beautiful on the outside, too. I love you."

Tears from both of us now.

"Romeo," I said while laughing and crying at the same time, "do you think we'll ever be able to tell each other how much we love the other without crying?"

"No." Laughter and tears from him now. "I'll see you in a little while, then?"

"Yes, Romeo. In a little while. Until then, I love you."

Laughter now from the both of us. Laughter and love, from the both of us, to each other.