When my Mom had Alzheimer’s we often placed our infant son Noah on her lap. Both would sit perfectly content with the company of the other. That strategy is not available to me with Cindy, a tragic reality. As we hiked across the country Cindy often exclaimed: “I can’t wait to have grandchildren.” The greatest sadness in all this stems from her never knowing, perhaps never meeting, her grandchildren.
In place of a grandchild we have two lap cats that technically belong to Charissa yet are permanent residents in our home. An “Ask Yahoo” question I encountered wanted to know whether to get a cat or dog. The recommendation was to get a Maine coon cat, as they act like dogs. Our own Maine coon cats confirm that. We have a gate at the top of the stairs to confine the cat hair to the first floor. Each morning Garfield, at 20 pounds the larger of the two large cats, waits at the gate for us to pet him. If we don’t immediately attend to his needs he will paw at us or stand on his hind legs in the traditional form of a begging dog. Elphaba gives out a little “meow” whenever you pass by, her means of vocalizing “pet me.” Both will come up to strangers to be petted, both spend a good amount of time on Cindy’s lap.
But they don’t spend as much time with Cindy as Friend, a stuffed polar bear. Shaped more like a panda, Friend likely belongs to Serena but takes up permanent residence on Emerson Street along with the cats. Friend most often finds his way into Cindy’s arms when we watch television in our attic den, a forbidden area to the cats. Yet Friend also can be found with Cindy when she wanders around the house. I call him Friend because Cindy could not come up with a name for her dear companion but make no mistake: Cindy at times hugs Friend as tightly as would a little girl.
Most of us go through an arc of life with advancing age, declining in mental and physical abilities, returning to the emotional purity of our youth. Does anyone else besides me find they are more likely to cry at a wedding at age 60? If we are fortunate, we decline together with our loved one. In some ways I’m not so fortunate, being witness to Cindy’s own version of “Benjamin Button.” Certainly there are some caregiver chores that tax the heart. Yet there are other moments, like when she hugs Friend with a contented smile on her face, that makes me feel quite warm inside, as if watching Cindy attain a bliss that eludes most folks on most days.
The secret to care giving, I think, is to keep in mind that being childlike is mainly a good thing, at least for those who have a childlike innocence at the core of their being. We can lament everything that has been lost; or we can treasure the essence that has been regained. Cindy’s warmth and kindness is something to tell our grandchildren about.
Kleenex please.