The first anecdote (who came up with the word anecdote???) I’m sharing this week shows how you have to have some humor to survive the sorrow of watching a loved one’s aging, especially one with dementia or Alzheimer’s. And that goes for when it’s us doing the aging!
When my husband and I were in the community band, the group was asked to perform at a three-floored elderly facility. I was told the patients were placed depending on their health status. The bottom floor housed rehabilitation patients and in-house clients who were in relatively good shape physically and mentally. The second-floor folks had more serious or limiting health issues and the top floor housed those who had dementia, Alzheimer’s and similar brain/forgetful issues – I’m guessing that made it harder for them to wander off on their own.
Why the director/nurses felt the need to place the band on the third floor instead of on the first or second floors, I’ve never understood – especially after we finished our gift of music on those beloved but unknowing ears. It was horribly sad to see these people who were once thriving, living, loving people get wheeled into the common room only to sit in their chairs seemingly oblivious to the band playing what should have been old familiar tunes to them. Some were making their own noise, moaning or chatting to themselves or some unseen person, and others just stared into the air fixated on nothing at all. I don’t recall one smile on any of those faces. But the humor that has to be accessible in these situations was to be dished out by a certain elderly gentleman. As we played our songs, he kept raising a hand up and down and saying (loudly), “I need an ash tray.” (I wish I could do a vocal here, because his tone and inflection was identical every time. So much so, I still remember the monotone, chanting voice.) After a couple of songs, our director found an ashtray and took it over to the man (yes, this was back in the day when smoking was acceptable – even a bit stylish – in public facilities; less than thirty years ago!). The band director returned to her spot and raised her baton to begin the next song, and we hear quite clearly another loud, “I need an ashtray.” Needless to say, a few muffled giggles were heard from the band members – nervous giggling or serious giggling or a combination, I couldn’t say. We glanced in sympathy at our leader who we loved for trying to help him and at the poor lost elder, and we all forged on through the continuing song of the ashtray.
Despite our audiences’ lack of capabilities, it was still wonderful to have been able to share our talents, and I fervently hoped that even one of them had been blessed to hear the live music that day. (I’m sure one of my nursing friends could go into detail why these folks were our chosen audience. Music is pretty soul touching, so maybe deep inside them there was rejoicing or calming taking place.)
Even more tragic in a sense, is when someone you love was perfectly themselves one day and the next day they are not. When my mother-in-law fell ill and was confused after returning home from a rehabilitation unit after a hip replacement, we weren’t at first overly concerned. One of the sisters took her to the hospital and we were told she was probably just dehydrated. A day or two after she was admitted, we went out to visit her. She was chatting to us quite normally, when suddenly she was talking to someone not in the room. In fact, it turned out to be her long dead mother. We looked at each other, suddenly realizing how serious the situation was and momentarily not sure how to handle it. I’m a giggler at the worst of times and my husband has a great sense of humor, and even though we were both full of wisdom and acceptance, we had to look for the humor. I don’t remember if what she was saying to her mother was funny or it was the shock, but after we left, we could only laugh over it. It wasn’t that there was anything funny about her hallucinating; it was just highly unsettling and some of us need to chuckle to get through these things. Within a few days she was a bloated distortion of herself, and the sorrow was allowed to come. Then she was suddenly gone from us, taken by a staph infection that hadn’t been detected soon enough to treat. I’m glad laughter helped us begin the journey of mourning that must come – and that continued as we remembered the fun bits of her as we rode that wave of loss.
We all handle difficult situations in whatever way is natural to us. Some get stressed, or cry, or want to be alone, but I firmly believe it’s okay to see some humor in these things or it’s just too heartbreaking to survive. We weren’t laughing disrespectfully at mom or at the ashtray man. We all knew our day might come and it could be us – or our parent – in that chair repeating a nonsensical phrase; we just had to alleviate the fear and the sorrow for a moment or two, knowing the grief would come when it needed to. Laughter is a proven healer. It’s okay to let the healing of laughter in – but do be respectful if it isn’t your loved one suffering. I have no doubt my hilarious adult children will find their humor if/when I go that road, and I sincerely hope they do. There’s nothing more healing than laughter.
FACTS: Laughter has many healing properties: it reduces stress, relieves tension, promotes longevity, boosts the immune system, increases the heart rate and circulation and exercises the lungs – just like aerobics does. It breaks up muscle tension in the face, and, as it is the opposite of the stress response, it heals the brain (improves neurochemistry) aiding those who have chronic illness or chronic depression by triggering the release of feel-good neurohormones. And if you are suffering from grief or depression, laughing at a funny joke can bring momentary relief.
So, if you have a joke to tell, even if it’s not a great joke, go ahead and share it. You might just reverse someone’s really bad day – including your own.
Dr. Sears, Wellness Institute
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