When caregivers are stuck indoors, it’s helpful to have a creative hobby. You need something to do during snowstorms, heat waves, or periods when your loved one is confined to bed. The written word is my creative vehicle. But I admire the ways that other use their artistic skills to transform dementia into works of art that transcend their pain.
In the past I’ve written for a site called Making Sense of Alzheimer’s. It serves as a portal with links to creative projects that wring meaning from experiences related to the disease. The site recently added a video that explains the beautiful illustration work of a British artist named Ruth Blackford. Ruth’s mother, a textile designer, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 1999. Ruth combined some of her mother’s work with visual art concepts to create the amazing work shown in this video.
I really enjoyed listening to Ruth’s explanation of how her art helped her gain a deeper understanding of her mother’s experience of having Alzheimer’s. Her comments made me wonder about the creative projects other readers get involved in to help deal with the stresses of caregiving, or the impact the disease has on loved ones. If you have a special project going, please write in and tell us something about your work. If there’s anything you’d like to share on the Making Sense of Alzheimer’s site, send me a message here.
It’s still snowing here. But we prepared in advance, so things are not too crazy today. The pantry is full, Mom is snoozing, and the coal stove is keeping us warm. Instead of pepping Mom up with rock and roll, my sister had the inspired idea to play church hymns. It settled everybody down.
Like many people of my generation, my time in the church pews has dropped to near zero. But the small town where I grew up was a lot like Garrison Keillor’s fictional community of Lake Woebegone. We went to the 11 AM service at the Lutheran Church every week. My dad was a well-regarded singer who performed in local theater productions and sang beautiful solos with the Lutheran choir. During elementary school, I sang in the children’s choir. Later in life I listened to my dad from the pews.
Though I’m seldom aware of it, I have a huge library of hymns in my head and can probably hum a hundred of them without straining to remember. Mom can’t go to church now because of her mobility problems. But Garrison Keillor’s weekly broadcasts remind me that there’s no reason I can’t bring church to her. On some of his performances, he manages to prod a whole theater full of people into singing the old hymns — and this is a comedy show!
Songs like Amazing Grace and Rock of Ages bring a high level of comfort to my mother. As a young mother she kept her voice low because my father made fun of her for singing off key. Dad passed away many years ago and now she doesn’t seem to remember his criticism (or him, for that matter!) Every once in a while she starts to hum in this wild operatic voice that comes from a strange, inexplicable source. The sound is weird, but vibrant and full of joy.
Her singing makes me wonder: what else is still in there? How is her internal library organized? Dewey decimal, random chance? Is there anything that might add to her peace or happiness? The are countless mysteries behind her eyes. It gives us something to ponder on a grey, snowy day.