Gail has always been a reader. For most of our marriage, and that is more than thirty years now, she had a book going. Our house was full of them. Slowly, she read less.
When we moved to North Carolina full time, I did not move all our books, only the ones I like to reread. I read on a Kindle now, most mornings, out on the deck while the sun comes up and the mist sits on the river.
Without fail, Gail wants to know what I am reading. Right now it is a book about the lives of the Stoics. A book about the Stoics is not something Gail would ever pick up. She asks for details anyway, lots of them, and then she says, “That’s so interesting. I want to read that.”
She does not get around to it.
My brother Bill and his wife Dot are still big readers. When they visit, they show up with three or four books, and Gail asks them the same questions she asks me. Then she says, “Can you leave those? I’d like to read them.”
Gail remembers that she loves to read. What she does not remember is that she can no longer hold a story long enough to finish a book.
Her memory of the memory is strong. The skill underneath it is weak. Both are true at the same time.
Reading is not the only place I see it. Gail loves having people over. She loves setting the table, and she loves washing up afterward. I do the cooking, and I love to cook. What I think Gail remembers is the joy that setting the table and cleaning up gave her. What she does not remember is how to set the table or how to clean up.
So I asked myself what to do with what I had noticed.
I talk about the memory. While I hand Gail the plates and forks to put out, I tell her about the lovely tables she used to set. When we talk about books, I tell her about my favorite ones. I do not ask her which books she read. She remembers loving them. She does not necessarily remember the books.
Folks who are new to someone with memory loss tend to open with a test. “You remember me, don’t you?” “Don’t you remember when we were kids and we…?” Every one of those is a question she has to answer.
They would do much better to share their own memory. Tell the story. Gail will smile and nod, and she will enjoy hearing somebody else tell a strong memory, even one she cannot find on her own.
The next time you visit someone with memory loss, leave the question at the door and bring a story.
Gail and her books are my example. You probably have one of your own. Email me at gregg@atenda.care and tell me.
Gregg
Get a letter like this every Tuesday.
