They had planned well for Annie’s 100th birthday. Her sister and nieces had flown in from the other end of the country. The table looked festive with balloons and a table centre resembling fireworks. They’d ordered a chocolate cake (her favourite) big enough to feed the entire dining room. Everyone was poised to sing.
They didn’t know what to expect. Annie said little these days, recognized few people and seemed to live in her own world. If she didn’t respond to the frivolity (she’d never been the frivolous type) they were prepared to celebrate on their own and eat cake with the other residents.
But then magic happened.
Her care partner wheeled her into the dining room and brought her to the decorated table
with her family. She gave Annie a hug and wished her a happy birthday, a gesture which left Annie looking confused. Throughout lunch, she looked bemused and remained silent. But when the cake arrived and everyone sang, a light inside her began to glow. She smiled, and when the song finished, she said her first words in months, “Well, for goodness sake!” Her family burst out laughing, as that expression was what she’d always said when she felt flabbergasted. For the rest of the meal, she seemed to understand the fuss was for her, and she revelled in it.
On the fifth day of Christmas, dementia gave to me…flexibility.
Annie’s family had no expectations of the day, so what occurred was a gift which they relived for years.
Flexibility is the ability to make an effort, even if things go south. To make plans which can be modified several different ways, or dropped completely, but to still make plans. Because sometimes, the magic happens. *A note here–sometimes the magic happens with absolutely no planning or effort. It’s unpredictable. That’s why it’s magic.
On the sixth day of Christmas, dementia gave to me…an awareness of the senses.
Just like a blind person becomes more aware of sounds around them, people with dementia can often pick up on the emotions in the room, even if they can’t name them. And although they may be coping with hearing loss, poor eyesight and other issues, the 
senses can be used to bring back memories and bring pleasure. Here are some examples:
- Sights–an old, familiar ornament, a picture album, snow falling.
- Smells–shortbread baking, evergreen boughs, hot apple cider.
- Touch–a baby’s skin, bread dough, snow.
- Sound–a familiar Christmas carol, a friend’s voice (phone, FaceTime) laughter.
- Taste–favourite foods, drinks, candies.
Use the senses to connect. A familiar smell or taste can reach back for memories which may seem lost.
Tom attended a Christmas celebration with his wife. In the final stages of dementia, his contracted body seldom connected with what happened around him. However, when Santa Claus entered the room, Tom brightened, attempted to raise his head and thrust out his curled hand to shake Santa’s. Santa Claus stirred a memory.
On the seventh day of Christmas, dementia gave to me…decorations.
I love lights, especially during the dull, cloudy days of December when the sun barely makes an appearance. They need to be coloured and plentiful and I adore the flashing ones.
But that’s me. Many elders are easily overwhelmed with too much glitter and glam. Some become agitated if furniture is moved from its normal spot (such as to accommodate a Christmas tree.) If you have a few familiar ornaments from their past, they might appreciate them. If they are able to tell you, ask what they would like. Again, simplicity and small changes in routine are preferable.
On the eighth day of Christmas, dementia gave to me…gift giving.
Gifts are tricky. For some, it’s fun to give and receive gifts, and by all means include them in the process. For others, it means nothing, and would causes stress. For many, there is a grey area where questions hover: what to give, how long to spend on opening at any one time, and how much to involve the elder with dementia. Each care partner will need to assess, and yes, be flexible.
But creativity is also key. A digital photo frame loaded with pictures of the grandchildren, or a scrapbook of pictures of family holidays in years back are ideas which would work for some.
As advocates, we shopped for each of our residents, filling a gift bag with items which would be useful and bring joy. One year, I spent the months of November and December taking good quality pictures of each resident, then framed it as their gift. During the pandemic, one advocate set up Zoom calls with family as a present to each resident. What joy those calls brought when family couldn’t visit!
Christmas is getting close, and I still have four gifts in my bag. Check for the last instalment later in the week.
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