When I grow too old to dream

In the twilight of their years in an aged-care facility on Lake Macquarie.

Hearing the silent scream

This is Faye. You met here on Saturday, during the Theme Day excitement. Faye lives with dementia. Mostly, when I am there, Faye sits in a comfortable chair looking after her baby. But on Friday, during the soft exercise period, she paid attention. She caught and threw the ball. She had a conversation with me, insisting that I sit down instead of her, because I walk with a stick. This is a facility where the psycho-social is more important than the merely medical.

Theme Day - People watching

Each Friday, I journey to spend time with my elder brother, who lives in an 'dementia secure' aged-care facility following a stroke in October 2011. This was their 'Gentle Exercise' class, during which they came alive, in ways I had not seen before. The class was led by Kate, the therapist, and by Barry, my brother.

This is my contribution to the City Daily Photo Blog Theme Day for September 2012

Is all vanity?

"Vanity of vanities; all is vanity" Ecclesiastes assures us.

I showed Norma the colour photograph that I took during our first meeting, and she was horrified.

"Oh dear, look at that mouth. That will never do, dear."
"Here. Take another one."

She pulled her beanie down, straightened her clothing, and carefully took her glasses off.

"Are you vain, Norma?"
"Oh, no dear. I don't really need them. I just wear them to humour the children."

Norma is in a high care, secure dementia unit. She uses a walker to get about. I have heard tell that she is a challenge.

Overjoyed that I would ask

He was. Overjoyed. He practically galloped to the armchair that I waved to. A photograp. Of him. Paul was excited. And apprehensive.

Here they are, in reverse order.

Paul is still growing into his feet, with a permanent stoop from bending down to listen to us lesser mortals. He is one of those people who moves slow as a tortoise but whose strides are so massive they reach their destination in good time.

He does not know it, but he will be waiting for me to bring the print to him next week. Paul has profound dementia.

Tapping gingerly through the fog

Freddie lives in the room next to my brother. He tends to follow me, when I visit Baz. It is very easy to include him in my banter. He is one of six, is Freddie. In the middle somewhere. I know this because I met his siblings last week, five of them. All very similar. They were the ones who cajoled him into smiling for me.

Growing old together

Iris has lost the ability to smile, but Twiggy doesn't mind; Iris is still Iris. To Twiggy she is. They still belong to each other. Best mates.

They spend time together every other day: they shuffle the corridors; they listen to stories. Twiggy sits at her slippers, while Iris slurps her cup of tea, waiting for the crumbs of biscuit that flutter down from the trembling lips.

It is hard to know who will toddle off first: Twiggy or her Iris.

Sans artifice

Life is too fragile for artifice. Margaret spent her life as the wife of a farmer.

Look closer, see me

Margo helped by moving the chair up to the table. When another chair was needed, she moved that first chair up to a new spot. And another. She still had a pronounced drawl to her voice. 'Are you from North America, Margo?' 'San Francisco. Yep. America.' There is a trending verse on FaceBook by a 'Crabby Old Man' who dies in hospital, leaving nothing but this scribble. Here is the last part of it, with adjustments to suit Margo: What do you see people? .......... What do you see? What are you thinking ............ when you're looking at me? A crabby old woman ............... not very wise, Uncertain of habit ............... with faraway eyes? I'm just an old woman ............ and nature is cruel. 'Tis jest to make old age ........ look like a fool. The body, it crumbles ............ grace and vigor, depart. There is now a stone ............. where I once had a heart. But inside this old body ......... a young girl she still dwells, And now and again ................ her battered heart swells. She remembers the joys ........... She remembers the pain. And she's loving and living ...... life over again. I think of the years ............. Too few, gone too fast. And accept the bald fact ......... that nothing can last. So, open your eyes, people ....... open and see. Not a crabby old woman ........... Look closer. See ME!

My contribution to the Weekend in Black and White community.

Staring us in the face

Beryl resides in a secure dementia unit, with 22 others. My brother is one of them. He had a stroke last year, which left him with no paralysis, but which severely impacted his cognitve functioning. I will introduce you to two other residents over the weekend.