Sometimes it takes so little to bring joy to a person with Alzheimer's. The following story is a case in point.
One day I arrived at the Alois Alzheimer Center to visit Ed, my beloved Romanian soul mate. As soon as I got out of the car, I realized I'd forgotten to bring any "props" for the visit. Usually I brought something to amuse Ed such as a new stuffed animal, a book with colorful pictures, some of my photographs, a CD with classical music or something like that. Those things engaged his mind, to the extent that was still possible, and gave us a focal point for interacting.
I was going to have to be creative that day or else the two of us would just end up staring at each other, making awkward small talk. He couldn't really participate in a meaningful conversation anymore, and small talk didn't work for us very well either.
Suddenly I realized I was wearing a coat with numerous pockets I was sure he would love to search through. Ed had always loved exploring pockets and compartments in suitcases, briefcases and ladies' purses.
It was a short, hooded, steel-gray Calvin Klein down-filled coat with a soft furry lining. First I showed him the lining and he caressed it with his hand. Then he rubbed it against his face and smiled.
Next I showed him the two side pockets. Almost every coat has side pockets but these were unusual because they had zippers. He "oohed" and "aahed," moving the zippers up and down, a look of wonder on his face. It was almost as though he'd never seen a zippered pocket before.
Then I showed him something you really don't often see. The outside of the left sleeve had a zippered pocket on it, too. That grabbed and held his attention for quite a while. First he looked to see if there was anything inside the pocket (there wasn't) and then he played with that zipper, too.
After exploring the pockets, the coat's hood caught his eye and he said, with wonder in his voice, "How marvelous it is to have a hood in case it's r-r-raining!"
I was amazed he made that connection, especially considering how advanced his dementia had become.
Having completed the tour of the coat's exterior, we began to explore its inside. Just then Angel, the most beautiful aide in the entire Alois Center, came in just to ask Ed if he needed anything. What a wonderful facility I thought. He said he didn't, but patted the empty space next to him on the sofa, inviting her to sit down. She did and he proudly showed her the pockets he'd discovered up to that point, except he forgot the one on the sleeve. She "oohed" and "aahed," too.
As she was sitting there, Ed reached up and began to gently stroke her golden hair. She smiled and put her arm around his shoulder. It was a lovely and natural gesture and it warmed my heart. Aides and residents were often openly affectionate at Alois, but such behavior would have gotten Ed fired in his previous profession as a university professor. When Angel got up to leave, he kissed her hand and asked her to come back soon. She said she would.
We went back to our investigation of the coat. He'd already forgotten we'd looked at the zippered side pockets before. Sometimes his dementia made him so easy to entertain. I could often do the same things over and over, but each time they seemed new and exciting to him.
Soon we caught up with what we'd looked at before and entered new territory. There was a pocket on the inside where a man's breast pocket would be. That was unusual in itself for a woman's coat, but that one was even more original because it, too, had a zipper. Ed looked at that for several seconds without speaking and then whispered that he loved it.
After a short break to have a little candy, we went back to exploring the coat. There were still two pockets left. They were on the inside left near the bottom. One was square; the other, sewn on top of that one, was oblong and obviously meant to hold a cell phone. Unlike the others, which had zippers, those two fastened with snaps. When he saw them he was initially at a loss for words. A look of amazement on his face, he tried to unsnap them. His shaky hands couldn't manage the small snaps, so I opened and closed them for him.
He stared at them with astonishment, then smiled and told me twice how happy he was that I had such a wonderful coat. I was touched that he was happy for me. That was so typical of Ed. Instead of saying how happy he was to play with the coat, he said how happy he was that I had it.
When I left I felt loved. I also felt deeply gratified that I'd been able to bring Ed joy with such a simple object as a coat. So many pockets, so little time...
Marie Marley is the author of the award-winning Come Back Early Today: A Memoir of Love, Alzheimer's and Joy. She is the co-author of the forthcoming Finding Joy in Alzheimer's: New Hope for Caregivers. Her website (ComeBackEarlyToday.com) contains a wealth of information for Alzheimer's caregivers.