"A ogni uccello il suo nido è bello." An Italian phrase akin to "home sweet home," it means, "every bird finds their own nest beautiful."
Over 450 older adults live on the campus where I work. We provide the nest, and their presence makes it home. If you came to see us, you'd understand why I say "nest." We are over 130 years old, a bastion of of green space in the city, shaded by stately oaks; the delight of gardeners and bird-watchers alike.
To add to the beauty of nature around us, residents and staff are invited to share interests, hobbies, and travels, and it's a great way to increase our programming power. We have so many interesting people living and working on our campus, it's so enriching to hear from one another in a presentation, lesson, or club meeting. As Chief Advancement Officer, I lead and manage the department providing marketing, commmunity relations, sales, fundraising, spiritual life, and volunteers, and while this keeps me on the run, I love opportunities to learn from my teammates and residents and the sharing of our stories.
A small percentage of our senior residents live with dementia, and some of those individuals live in our memory neighborhood. I was invited to share about my family's summer trip to Italy, so I created a PowerPoint and planned to bring them an Italian treat to flesh out their experience. I was thinking cannolis!
The day arrived and as usual, I was booked with back to back meetings. I ran out to locate an "appertivo" for my pals. We have a terrific family-run Italian grocery in Dallas (look up Jimmy's!), but as I checked in with my team, I realized I only had time for one stop before my appointment, and I also needed flowers for a marketing event the next day. Trader Joe's to the rescue! I ran in for several armfuls of bright blooms, grabbed some Tuscan-like sunflowers for my friends, and ran up and down the aisles until I found a few mildly "Italian" treats: chocolate covered espresso beans, "soft bite" biscotti, and blood orange soda. Racing back to my office, I was lucky to find a valued teammate who helped me assemble the plate of treats, trim my sunflowers, and help me get my presentation going.
With expectant smiles, my memory friends arrived, perched in their favorite places, and welcomed me to the living room of their neighborhood. Their nest. Our armchair journey of my family's summer trip began.
My memory friends are a diverse group of mostly women and a few men. Among them you'll find a professor, a doctor, a business man, a teacher, an antique dealer, an artist, a couple of homemakers, an administrative assistant, a former University of Texas cheerleader, and more. Some are floating along in early stages of dementia. Others are advanced into what we call the "serenity" phase of cognitive loss. A couple of them are experiencing periodic expressions of discomfort due to their disease progression. All of them are met where they are, as individuals, and as valued neighborhood members, by our caring and intuitive team. I am always honored to get to spend time with them.
It's true, they feel pain and worry and anxiety, just like you and I do. But despite our assumptions that they live constantly in suffering, their negative experiences can sometimes pass so quickly, we find ourselves retaining distress even when their faces have turned to a smiling visage of peace. It's more often the loved ones and care partners who experience the most intense suffering during dementia. The slow and painful vigil as their loved one seems to slip away, leaving what feels like a stranger in their place.
But today, the families are out living their lives as they should - as those of us in this business pray they are doing with gusto! - while my friends are here with me, and we set out on our journey through Italy. Buon Giorno!
Immediately, my artist and my antique dealer begin to bounce with joy as photos of Sicilian ruins, coastlines, vineyards and the active yet safe volcano, Mt. Etna, burst forth from my PowerPoint. My business man, who had arrived with expressions of " I'm not interested," and "I don't like this," became quiet and attentive. When I asked if anyone knew what Sicily was famous for, he became quite interested in a discussion on the joys of cannolis, olive oil, and wine. Suddenly my TJ biscotti did not feel up to snuff for my lovely friends whom I soon realized were my hosts rather than my audience. They were welcoming me as a treasured guest, each of them an interested host or hostess. They were graciously welcoming me to their nest.
One of my friends that I have known for years began to have some expressions that could be construed as discomfort. When I made eye contact with her, and repeated myself slowly with a smile, she smiled back despite her obviously involuntary exclamations. Soon, our care staff came and accompanied my friend to the lady's room. When they returned, my friend settled in happily, reveling in our treats and her sunflower. For a family member, this kind of experience is so distressing because it's so different from the person they know and love. However, it's so often a symptom of a human need, simply met, and easily recognized to the trained eye. It's not easy but it is possible.
As we ambled our way from the island of Sicily, on to Rome, Florence, and Tuscany, I was met with comments from my friends on the beauty of Italy....
I loved the pasta when I was there.
I think colors look different there.
The churches were my favorite places to visit.
I remember the David was much more impressive than I thought it would be.
I remember that the Italians seemed to like us even though we were Americans.
The men were very good looking there!
We enjoyed our soda and treats and our flowers. They asked surprising questions and again, I was struck by their welcoming spirits and reception. Not unlike the Italians my family and I encountered on our trip, my friends fell into the easy hospitality so engrained in their generation. They made me feel welcome in their nest. The nest they have feathered with their personalities, their spirits, and yes, their memories.
If you are experiencing dementia through a loved one, I pray this message brings you a glimmer of hope concerning your person's experience of life. There are many different options for care and for help: day programs, senior centers, residential programs, home healthcare, caregiver support groups, more. We can help our loved ones not only find their nest, we can help them find it with beauty and comfort.
As the Italians also say, finché c'è vita c'è speranza - as long as there is life, there is hope. While life with dementia may not be what we imagined, we can hope that our loved ones experience can be purposeful and supported. Give us a call at Juliette Fowler for more resources and ideas!
"Empty Nesters," oil on canvas by Monica Minshew Cowsert
Ciao and prayers until next time my friend...
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