I don’t know much about guns. I shot one once, at a target. I missed. I know a gun has a trigger, and in order to shoot it, you have to pull the trigger. (Duh!) I learned that first from Road Runner cartoons. Wile E. Coyote would shoot his gun and then stand casually blowing […]

Some of the best content on Facebook is when my daughter posts pictures of my granddaughter’s visits to the Hallowe’en aisle of WalMart. Picture a  cherubic six-year-old who favours pink and anything with sparkles, wearing the most ghoulish masks imaginable. She loves blood dripping and skin hanging. When she’s wearing one of those masks, I

This is the final instalment in my series on communication with a person with dementia. A person with dementia lives in a different reality from yours. What is real and true and makes perfect sense to them may sound like disconnected babble to you. Or, the words and even the concepts may make sense, but

Today I made a cake, but my chief mixer wasn’t there to help.  She left early in the morning, and won’t be back. Although I will miss her terribly, she has left so many parts of herself with me, there are ways in which she will always be there. I met Mrs. B. many years

For years, I’ve sat in my living room and surveyed the landscape. Paint job at least 20 years old. Dated colours. Stained “cream” carpet that would never be pristine again. Tired. But so was I. One problem was the paint job extended through the living room, dining room, hall, up the stairs and into the

Thank you for your patience, readers! Our house has been “under construction” for nine months, but the last two weeks were intense, and I made the decision not to write until it was done. We are finished, and I am back. Look for a blog about renovations soon… Learning to communicate with someone with dementia

“Do you have any knitting patterns? I want to knit for my granddaughter, and I need to look at some patterns.” I looked at her helplessly. This lady couldn’t knit any more, let alone follow a pattern. What should I say? She was the mother of our neighbours at the time. Both our townhouses were

I’ve learned to wait for answers. For me, it’s a sign of respect that I wait for the resident to tell me how they like their coffee. If they are struggling, I may say, “Do you like cream?” That is usually answered immediately. Then I add, “What about sugar?” This separates the answer into manageable

Every lunch, I assist two ladies with their lunch. Isabel can do a little for herself, such as take a sip of soup when it is in a mug. Sometimes she struggles to get the mug to her mouth, and my hand gently guiding it makes all the difference. She prefers salads to sandwiches, and

I hate saying “Good-bye.”I guess few love it, but I hate it with a passion.Which is unfortunate, because my work involves a lot of good-byes. I meet residents in the last season of their lives. The season may last surprisingly long, but inevitably, there is a time to say good-bye. And it hurts. “Maintain a