Sorry for the delay.

 I think I am going to need to become more like a college student and bring my laptop to class.  There are two things stopping me.  First, I don't type fast enough to pay attention to the lecture and type at the same time.  Writing is much easier.  Also, college lecture halls have theater seating and those folding desks attached to the right arm of the chair.  It's BARELY a triangle.  I'm trying to watch the other students but that is my primary excuse for no laptop in class.  However, maybe I should have my laptop with me for the library after class.  Lots of students do that too.  C'est le vie.

When I was in my first year at the seminary, I was assigned to minister at a senior living facility just north of the campus.  I was given the charge to focus on the 5th floor of the building -- the dementia ward.  When a young lady in my class brought up her experience in her nursing clinicals with dementia, I was taken back into my memories of my assignment in that first year.  Little did I also realize that it would be an early pre-cursor to CPE (program taken to be certified to work in hospitals as chaplains).  While the rest of the building was more like independent or assisted living apartments, the 5th floor really was more like a hospital atmosphere.  

One woman living there had practically no known history.  I know that sounds odd, but there was no record of family or her past - just a name.  She was bound to live out her days in the facility.  However, Betty was no ordinary woman.  She would refer to a person by the name of Clifford (not the big red dog from the comics).  There was no proof he existed, but Betty could talk about him like he was there every day.  He was either on good behavior with her or he was in trouble with her.  If he was not, listener beware.  She had a potty-mouth.  What I came to learn from my weekly visits at the home, especially from Betty, was the best lesson I could use in the real world.  If she started telling a story and it was going to be one she had already told, I simply asked a question that would stop that train of thought.  The story (and even the attitude of her response) changed dramatically.  For some people including our instructor, the dementia ward was difficult because they could only see what was depressing.  In my own way, I felt like I was keeping the dignity of the person by remaining interested and not simply walking away.

That technique became important for my family a few years after ordination after my grandmother started falling into dementia.  She was failing but still functioning.  I really felt like I was being of use to my mother especially as she was having a very difficult time.  I tried to teach her to change the story.  Just bringing up a topic only SHE would know about and was important for her could make a world of difference.  For instance, when my grandma was younger, she played the organ at church.  She could talk about the music, the priests, or even bringing up one memory that people would have thought to be lost.  The point was to allow grandma to have the dignity of her personhood and for mom not to be quite as frustrated.  I had seen some people treat dementia patients like they were simple objects and not people.  It really made me realize that it was one way of coping for some people, but it was certainly degrading.  I didn't bring that up at grandma's funeral Mass, BTW.

She was such a good person.  That was what made the difference at the funeral Mass.  I think that might have been the first time I was on the altar for many of my cousins.  Anyhow, we all have our individual memories of grandma, yet some things were common for all of us.  For example, Christmas Day was always spent at her home and at the end of grace before dinner, she always added in "and thank you for the togetherness."  It seems small and trivial, but for years after she died, someone would inevitably quote her at the end of grace.  In retrospect the only thing that would have been even a little better was if we ALL said it at the same time.  Wish I would have thought of that back then.