Some of you may know that our family is going through a journey together, along a road that has taken us all to places unanticipated and even unimagined. My mom has shown signs of dementia for years, who knows how many? Slowly and often imperceptibly growing, often without change or attention for months, and then a leap forward with a telling comment, or outburst, or uncharacteristic action, that leaves us with more questions than before.

After a stint in the hospital due to a UTI (which is a brain virus for seniors) and C-Diff, a dreaded infection that stems from antibiotics, my mom, who is rarely, if ever, sick or injured, returned home with a body much recovered after years of neglect, and a brain that had developed much further into dementia. It seemed that she was dying, which she daily requested that we orchestrate, and which provided the only end in sight that looked possible or feasible. But slowly it became apparent that her body was still recovering from illness, and her mind was not going to recover beyond a certain point. And thus we quickly pivoted to move her into assisted living (which she had often mentioned in the past, certain she belonged there) which, once there, she alternately appreciated and hated. That was over six months ago.

I am currently reading a book called “Travelers to Unimaginable Lands” which analyzes not just the disease of Alzheimers but the relationship of patient with the caregiver. Reading this has given voice to some of my most difficult questions and feelings. Caregivers, being human, cannot help but be drawn into the reality of someone with dementia, unless and until they come to the clear conclusion that the person is not really “there” anymore, in which case all motivation for loving them and caring for them becomes a moot point. So of course we search for the person, we rejoice when we see him/her, and we encourage actions, thoughts and feelings which we find desirable or healthy. The closer we are to the person with dementia, the harder it is to simply have a dispassionate compassion, which is the most sustainable mental perspective of a caregiver who must withstand daily, minute changes in everything from mood to purposeful action, including those that feel very close to being the “real” person!

I write for a living, in more ways than one. I earn money by writing. I also write lengthy communications for everything from saving the planet to family health updates. And of course, there are my journals.

Writing as a medium is, no doubt, intricately influenced by era, culture, and mediums. Which is why Swedenborg’s sheer verbosity astounds me—it would be amazing enough if the Writings, all 7000 pages of them, were typed! My dad believes that the brain works differently when typing vs. writing by hand, and I suspect he’s right. 

But one thing hasn’t changed, and that is that we still are responsible for our own writing—or at least, we should be. Anonymity in online media today is a sure route down a rabbit hole into acrimony, hostility and mistaken assumptions. I am careful to only write what I am willing to put my name behind, for better or for worse. This has helped me to acquire a level of caution I didn’t used to have, and also discouraged, or at least slowed, my reactive (usually passionate) declarations or responses.

I want my words to be heard. I want them to matter. I want them to make the world better. These are not bad things! 

I live in a largely Christian world, and spend a lot of my life with other non-New Church Christians. We are active members of the United Church of Christ, a Methodist-Presbyterian mix that formed 50+ years ago when neither church could stand on its own (if you’re wondering what kind of doctrine comes from such a mix of conflicting dogmas, the answer is that we are the Christians who are neither Baptist, Lutheran, or Catholic, and we don’t sweat the small stuff.). 

Over the years Mark and I have become deeply connected to other members, especially older couples who have lived clean and meaningful lives without fanfare, who consistently serve as deacons, cooks, trustees, board members, choir members, tech support, and anything else that is needed, all in their volunteer church life. Churches are a wonderful avenue to community, even aside from any religiosity–a fact that is often missed in the mainstream media in its lament over the problems of loneliness and broken relationships and disease. Our tech guy, Jose, who films countless services and other events at the church, sometimes as a volunteer, recently announced that he will retire this summer. In his announcement he gruffly stated, “I don’t really consider myself a religious person” with a rueful laugh, adding, “The church family means a lot to me.” I suspect he will discover that he still wants to come to church, just because.  

What is it about coming to church every 7th day that is so powerful? It’s such an easy commandment to keep, compared to some of the others! Just a habit, do-able for those of us lucky enough to not be in 24-hour service shifts. While we have been through many phases with our church, I’m finding that once you put in enough time, the familiarity and comfort, coming from a thousand hymns and prayers chanted together and a thousand conversations over coffee fellowship builds, imperceptibly, until suddenly a child whom you watched grow up or an old person you watched grow old is confiding in you as a trusted friend.

Mark and I read recently in Divine Providence about how the door to heaven opens and closes in our minds, and if the door is closed to heaven, you just can’t see what is true. I find this a very helpful way of thinking. I like to envision doors opening, and also closing, below me, into hell. If I can shut my eyes and decisively shut the door under me, it quiets the vindictive, revengeful voices telling me what a bad card I was dealt or how hopeless it all is or whatever thought is plaguing or paralyzing me. 

We all have our blind spots, our closed doors. For me, my 50s have been great for opening doors I didn’t know existed.  Consciously deciding to be curious has helped. Wanting to be an angel someday has helped. Watching what happens when large swaths of people believe their causes are right, impenetrable, and that other voices should be squashed, has also helped. 

In a related way, I have recently felt doors opening while listening to podcasts. Podcasts are a great way to get out of our echo chambers (groups of people who think exactly the way we do). You get to hear real people talking in a public yet frank way to people whom they trust about the issues that matter to them. Curiosity has led me to many thoughtful conversations that have subtly changed my perspective. One of these is the “Family Life Today” podcast, which is produced by a delightfully frank, open, die-hard Christian couple who are not afraid to discuss the topics where most people in their tribe daren’t tread. Doubting God. Blended families. Teenagers leaving the path. Introverts: does everyone have to be an evangelist? Perimenopause! One of my favorites. They interview authors frequently, and it was Sherri Lynn who wrote a book entitled “I want to punch you in the face but I love Jesus: the Ultimate PMS Companion.”  She was a riot!