The ability to be in the present moment is a major component of mental wellness.
~Abraham Maslow
I knocked on the apartment door knowing only that the lady I’d be meeting was a retired high-school English teacher in the early to middle stages of Alzheimer’s. She was only in her sixties.
As her husband opened the door, Peggy stood beside him with bright, alert eyes and a hint of cautiousness. “Who are you?” she blurted out. That was a fair question, and one that I would answer freshly each time we met to take nature walks, work on iPad puzzles, read poetry aloud, dabble in water paints, eat lunch, or dance in her kitchen.
Peggy’s husband hired me to be “a friend” to his wife a few days a week when he had chemotherapy, needed to go grocery shopping, or played an occasional round of golf with his brother. Otherwise, he was doing what he cherished most: caring for the love of his life.
Time plays devilish tricks on the minds of those challenged by Alzheimer’s, so Peggy would ask about every half-hour, “Where’s my husband?” Or, “Where’s my father?” The notion of spouse and parent had begun to merge into one supporting role in her mind.
Each time she asked the question, I answered with the same calm tone, “Oh, Fred? Your husband is getting orange juice and bread from the store. He’ll be back soon. Look at these cool pencils. Do you want to color the rainbow with the blue one or the pink one?” Or I’d open the iPad to a kaleidoscope-drawing app and gently guide her hand until her fingers magically triggered bursts of vibrant shapes. I saved her creations and texted them to Fred, knowing it would make him smile.
The repetition of assurance and the redirection toward an activity put Peggy at ease. Even when she’d say in a panic, “I want to go home. My parents will be worried,” I’d gently reassure her that they knew we were together having fun, and she would be home soon. Past and present were merging for Peggy. The challenge for me was to choose words and a tone that would soothe her “child within,” while always honoring the adult woman who quickly became my friend.
Peggy’s response to her surroundings was akin to the curiosity with which a child experiences the wonders of the world for the first time. During our walks, she’d stop and watch the gentle movement of wind through the boughs of trees and exclaim, “She’s dancing. Isn’t she beautiful?” Her senses seemed heightened, and the inanimate became animate. Or, maybe, Peggy became one with the weeping willows, daffodils and swallowtails. She observed keenly and with such appreciation for the mere presence of natural life forms. These moments were spontaneous meditations that taught me to still my racing thoughts and live in the moment.
After lunch, a group of residents in Peggy and Fred’s apartment building would congregate in front of the fireplace in the lobby for a sing-along. A retired elementary-school teacher would strum a ukulele that she had been playing for decades. What I had not expected was that Peggy spontaneously sang along, often with the correct words and other times carrying the melody with sounds. Her anxiety disappeared completely when we were singing.
As the year passed, Peggy’s medical needs grew greater, and so did Fred’s. He made the difficult decision to transition Peggy to a memory-care community close to where he lived so that she would receive specialized care and he could see her most days.
I continued to visit Peggy, but her skills for puzzles, reading and speaking were declining. What could I do that would make a difference? The answer was, at first, daunting. Play the ukulele. But wasn’t I too old to learn a musical instrument? Well, the only way to know for sure was to try.
First, I needed to buy one. Who knew ukuleles came in so many shapes, colors and sounds? After strumming a simple C chord on half of the inventory, I chose a Martin soprano. Now for the challenging part: hours upon hours of practice, practice and more practice. By the time I had learned to play and sing my first few songs, I was convinced that my husband would never leave me. Or was he secretly putting in earplugs? But the true test came when I brought my ukulele with me to see Peggy.
One of her favorite songs was from the musical, Oklahoma. My strumming was clumsy, but Peggy didn’t mind at all. Together, our voices filled the air. Peggy was everything you could want in a friend. Although she had seen dozens of Broadway musicals throughout her life, she didn’t point out the flaws in my playing. Instead, she did what a true friend would do and just sang right along. Nothing else mattered during those moments we shared.
The COVID pandemic has separated many of us from loved ones in the most heartbreaking ways. After over a year, Fred was finally able to hold hands with his sweetheart once again in her room. He called me and asked if I’d like to talk to Peggy. I quickly switched to speakerphone, picked up my ukulele and began singing her favorite tune: “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.” It surely was.
— Rosemarie Zannino Law —
