“That was a turning point for me,” Lori says. “I began to understand that she did certain things because her brain was following a pattern. I started learning not to judge and to look for the connections.”
Once Lori moved beyond her fear and let in playfulness, she had many periods of deep connection with her mother. These moments were so powerful that Lori became a tireless advocate for those living with dementia and their care partners.
Talk about Dreams and Preferences
As a care partner, Lori knows it’s easy to get consumed with the medical condition when someone is diagnosed with memory impairment.
“We miss out when we forget to talk to our partners about their spiritual, physical, and psychological needs,” she says.
Here are some discussions Lori found to be meaningful with her own mother:
What’s on your bucket list?
What are some of your favorite songs, singers, bands, foods, hobbies, and activities?
Let’s go through old pictures, and you can show me your favorites.
Will you help me gather your personal history, including stories about growing up with your family, jobs you held, friends you had, sports you played, vacations you went on? This will become extremely helpful later as the disease progresses, and it will be fun to do together now.
Shall we talk about some of our favorite moments together?
What is important to you in your daily routine? Reading the newspaper, sipping a morning cup of coffee, taking an afternoon walk, doing a crossword puzzle?
Would you be willing to share your experience as it progresses via writing, video, or photos, or just talking to me about it? Your insights would really help me and the rest of the family understand what you are going through.
“Dementia is a vibrant disease, encompassing the colors of the rainbow,” Lori says. “If we regard it in strict black and white, we only see right or wrong. We need to let in the color and light.”
Creative Sparks
Let go of any fears that you “won’t get it right.” The only misstep is if you don’t try to help a person living with dementia. This is a game of trial and error, not wins and losses.
Talk about dreams, goals, memories, and preferences together.
Support your partner by adapting to the changes he is experiencing. Ask for his advice when possible.
Fly to the Moon with Music Therapy
Embrace the Duet of Music and the Brain
Come Alive with Personal Playlists
Sing Along and Find Your Voice
Weave In Rhythm
Unearth Life’s Lyrics
Encore
“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.” —Victor Hugo
During my mom’s dementia journey, music often inspired and connected us. Here is one of those melodic moments, in a paraphrased excerpt from my book, Love in the Land of Dementia: Finding Hope in the Caregiver’s Journey. The story is set in my mom’s memory care community.
Rochelle, the activity director, sticks in another tape and soon “Stardust” is playing.
“Let’s dance,” she says, motioning everyone to stand.
Mom looks up, and I offer her my hand.
“Want to dance?” I ask her.
“What?”
“Want to dance?” I repeat, making a swirling motion.
“What else,” she says, standing up.
My parents have danced to this song many times, my mother coaxing my father onto the dance floor. I hold hands with Mom and move back and forth to the music. She laughs and does the same. I twirl her, and she walks around in a jaunty little circle. For a moment, her energy and charm have returned. I feel like I have found my long-lost mother. If my father were here, he would not be surprised. He is certain she will return to him and takes every word, every gesture of affection, every smile as a sign of hope.
“Hope is everything,” Dad told me just last week. “I find something hopeful and I milk it for all it’s worth. If it doesn’t work out, then I search for something else. Otherwise, I am in despair.”
I twirl my mom again. It is actually our first real dance together . . . .
From dancing to creating personal playlists, this chapter sings with music and rhythm-related ideas. According to numerous studies, music improves the lives of those living with dementia by reducing the need for psychotropic drugs, increasing socialization, and relieving depression.
Fly to the Moon with Music Therapy
“Where words fail, music speaks.” —Hans Christian Andersen
Mollie is not in the mood to sing. Her mouth is in scowl position as she slumps onto our sofa and says, “I wish I could die.”
Mollie has been wishing this for some months, but despite her ninety-seven years of life and difficulty in seeing and hearing, despite the maddening encroachment of forgetfulness and confusion, despite increased frailty and physical decline, Mollie lives on.
I sit beside Mollie, holding her one-year-old great-granddaughter Annabelle. At the sight of Annabelle’s rosy cheeks and winning smile, Mollie says, “What a pretty baby. How old is she now?”
“One year,” I tell her.
My life partner Ron, Mollie’s son, brings Mollie a tissue and a glass of water. A knock on the door and Emily, the music therapist, comes in. She sets down her guitar case and reintroduces herself to Mollie. “We met a couple of weeks ago,” she says. “I sang you songs, and we talked about your travels.”
“Whatever,” Mollie says, shrugging.
“Shall I sing more songs today?” Emily asks.
“If you want to,” Mollie says, closing her eyes.
For the last two months, we’ve added a hospice team to the assisted living staff who care for Mollie. Emily is part of their arts program, and Ron and I want to experience this session with Mollie, thinking it will be something meaningful to share.
Emily has brought an array of bells and rattles. As Emily plays “Down by the