The Little Gestures that Count

After turning my alarm off in the morning I check in on a few news and social media sites and then spend a little time on one of my writing projects.  About an hour later I arise to start Cindy’s day as well.  I often sing one of two songs to her as I try to get her day started right:  “Good Morning” from Singing in the Rain, or “Rise and Shine” which features our son Noah’s name.  I often sang these songs in the morning long before Cindy became afflicted with Alzheimer’s, imposing my obnoxious cheerfulness to start the day.  I sing them to Cindy now to keep a family tradition fresh in her mind as much as starting her day with good cheer.

After breakfast I do range of motion exercises with Cindy.  She glances down at me as I start with her legs.  When I move to her right arm her glance remains down towards her feet.  When I get to her left arm her gaze is directly into my eyes.  The straightening of her left arm naturally lowers my head towards hers and I kiss her with every repetition.  During one of the repetitions, sometimes at the start, sometimes later, I lower my head further and whisper into her ear:  “I love you Cindy.”

Also in the morning I stand at the foot of Cindy’s hospital bed and practice flatpicking on my acoustic guitar.  I spend much of the time practicing new material of various difficulty, pausing to comment about my successes and failures as they occur.  This provides the most natural setting for friendly “chatting” with Cindy.  Her countenance does not register anything more than simple engagement, but that is enough for me to think our “chats” serve a purpose.

I wait until after lunch before I first read to her.  Currently I am reading the Beverly Cleary books about Henry and Ramona.  Before this I read through the Lord of the Rings series, before that the Harry Potter series, before that the 33 books in the Oz series by the first two authors, before that the Indian in the Cupboard series.  These are all books we read out loud to our kids, sometimes curling up on the couch with them for an hour or more.  By reading them to Cindy I hope I am reviving and stimulating thoughts of family inside her … plus as a big kid I enjoy them.

Sometimes after the range of motion exercises I hold Cindy on my lap and rock her for a little bit.  In the afternoon when I do this I make sure to tell her: “We make a good team!” or “You are my Expedition Woman!”  This attempts to increase her self-esteem without saying “I am proud of you,” which seems inappropriate for the situation.

In the evening I practice classical guitar as a way to wind down.  I still practice movements from my American Discovery Symphony occasionally by accompanying the YouTube videos I have uploaded.  This effectively preserves one of the most memorable, amazing chapters of our lives, the 5,000 mile walk across the country.  As other memories fall away I hope this one persists until near the end.

At bedtime I convert the “couch” into my “bed” by sliding it over next to Cindy’s hospital bed.  She usually is in peaceful repose by this time, if not already asleep.  Right before turning off the light I lean over to kiss Cindy on the forehead and say:  “Good night Cindy.  Sweet dreams.”

I realize now that what I do for a loved one as a caregiver benefits any loved one.  I tell our kids more frequently that I love them now.  Perhaps more importantly, out of the blue I will tell them I am proud of them.  Doing this without a prompt from some specific achievement acknowledges their worth based on who they are, not what they do.  Imagine that I hold Cindy on my lap and tell her how sorry I feel for her, how life has dealt her such a bad hand.  I always offer commiseration rather than affirmation.  Would Cindy have the same positive state of mind?  Would anyone?  Tell someone you love something affirming today.

How I start and end Cindy’s day are lessons learned from raising our kids.  Ever notice how readily and joyfully kids start the day if the cares of the world have not yet descended upon them?  They helped to start my day with joy as well.  Conversely, at the end of the day I either sang or read to my kids at bedtime, hopefully helping to end their day in peace.  Being a caregiver reinforced in me the belief that at least one partner should start the day in joy, while the other helps to end the day in peace.

As a parent I found that reading to our kids was the single most nurturing thing we did for them.  The sound of a parent’s voice, the feel of a parent’s warmth, the engagement of the mind from such intimacy cannot be duplicated by any electronic device.  Why not read to a spouse, partner or friend as well?

Range of motion exercises may not be necessary for your situation, but what about yoga together?  Or massages?  I tell you now I wish this was a lesson I had learned before becoming a caregiver.

I periodically claim that I hope this website informs and inspires other potential caregivers, but the little gestures that increase the quality of life should not be just for the afflicted.  Or, to look at this another way, we are all afflicted by something, we all benefit from the care of others directed our way.  Tap into the caregiver that lies within you.