Nora wiggled her small frame in her chair, obviously anxious about something. Her straight, white hair framed her face, set in a permanent look of dissatisfaction. Although blind, I got the feeling that her look came from years of feeling that we could all do better, not her blindness.
The piano tuner was making his yearly visit. He came at lunch so as to cause the least disturbance among the residents and was “plinkety-plinking” his way along the keyboard. Nora ate quickly and had returned to the lounge, sitting like a disapproving hawk, overseeing the proceedings.
I watched and wondered how this would play out. Loud “plinky-plinks” were interspersed with shuffles and the occasional “tsk” from Nora. Finally, with the air of someone who had endured enough, she burst out in her thick, Irish brogue, “If ye canna play the ting, you’re better to leave it alone!”
A Sense of Humour
My Google search for “qualities of a caregiver” revealed characteristics which might have been describing one of the heavenly host. Besides the ones I have mentioned this month were attentiveness, confidence, enthusiasm, powers of observation, interpersonal skills, time management, organization, initiative, stamina, passion, selflessness and confidentiality. Whew! Like I said, a near saint. Yet this quality, a sense of humour, was conspicuously absent. Why?
Perhaps we think a sense of humour means laughing at our elders, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. A sense of humour is that special quality that looks at the situation, appreciates all the players in it (including myself) and smiles. It helped me many times to take myself less seriously. It takes a heartbreaking situation such as dementia and injects it with affection and a tiny poke in the side.
Make no mistake. I understand the pain of watching someone you love look lost and afraid because their dementia confused them. I know the struggle of having an elder turn on you for no reason other than their fear. The many conflicts elders face, with or without dementia, are real and shouldn’t be taken lightly.
But a sense of humour points to the person inside and not the disease. As such, it’s one of the most valuable characteristics a care partner can possess.
Even when grief is fresh, there can be a funny side. I had a newly widowed wife ask me what to take to the funeral home. Did she need underwear? I told her to ask the funeral home. I had no idea.
But it’s certainly something to ponder in the middle of the night.
As you go through your day, allow your sense of humour to be the secret weapon which brings everything else into focus.
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