As I walked down the hall towards my mother’s room in the nursing home, I passed a woman who used to live across the street from us in the old neighborhood.   She is also a resident, due to her failing health and cognitive decline, so I always take a moment to chat with her. Today, as I paused, we held hands as a sign of our close friendship. She asked, “Has your mother found her mind, yet?” Taken back by her question, I replied, “I hope so.” Quickly she answered, “I hope so, too.” I began to walk away, then turned and said, “Thank you for hoping with me.”

Surprisingly, that day was the beginning of my mother’s improved clarity. She has maintained her ability to make eye contact, reach for her favorite soft toy and even nod her head in answer. Over the last two weeks, several of the staff and even my sister have commented on her improvement.

I realized that I haven’t expected my mother to improve, only to decline.

Today, someone reminded me of a scripture that made me think of how I’d accepted my mother’s fate and possibly even my own. It took my little friend to put the idea in my head that I was able to hope for more. Not only hope but expect. 2Timothy 1:7 says “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” ( NKJV).

Thank you, sweet friend, for pointing me toward hope for a better day and not just accept the death sentence of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

My friend with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease has this tattooed on her arm. “While there’s life, there is hope.” Agreed. Hope in this life and for the next.

Our new Twiddle Classic arrived in the mail today. I couldn’t wait to get to the nursing home so I could introduce it to my mother.  After getting the proper name tags heat pressed onto the purple furry fabric, I went to my mother, who had just been laid down for the afternoon.  She was propped up and awake.  I told her she had a present that had just arrived.  She seemed eager and interested.  I presented the purple pal.  She immediately  took it in her left hand and began exploring it.  Her right hand is rather useless, so she picked it up left-handed and put it to her face, held the beads, held the ball inside the “muff” and entertained herself the rest of the afternoon. We both listened to music via my smartphone and a split jack for two headsets. The easy-listening music put her at ease as she took ownership of the Twiddle.   I was so happy to be able to leave it with her.  I informed the CNA’s about her new friend and encouraged them to be sure she has it with her. This is a similar idea of the activity mat which is also well received by my mother.

Perhaps you have some similar ideas that have worked well for you.  Please share.

For more information about Twiddle products go to www.4twiddle.com or call 844-894-3353.

Finding a worthwhile activity is an endless pursuit when caring for someone with Alzheimer’s disease.   The need to provide stimulation for a chair or bed bound person may be satisfied with an activity mat.  They can be purchased or made with great variety and creativity. I enjoyed sitting by my mother’s bedside today while she held onto the beads and other attachments on the activity mat as we both listened to music with our earbuds on.  We were both content and peaceful as we heard easy listening music on Pandora radio.  At one point, she gave a big sigh, while resting her head on the pillow. A nice way to spend the afternoon.

I overheard someone say that the most memorable thing about Christmas this year was some good pizza they had eaten. “Pizza,” I questioned? “Pretty much,” was the response.

I considered what the most memorable thing about my Christmas experience had been. I thought about our visit to my son’s house in Mississippi, where his wife and her mother prepared a traditional German Christmas Eve dinner for us. I thought about their beautifully decorated tree, heavy laden with gifts for everyone. I thought about their resort-like neighborhood and our relaxing walk on the golf course behind their spacious home.

Then I remembered what happened while we were in the kitchen cleaning up after Christmas dinner. My daughter-in-law asked her mom to pack up some leftover food to take over to the neighbor’s house. The conversation that followed was explaining that the next-door neighbor was out of town. They usually kept an eye out for their elderly neighbors across the street. Although she had never met them, she had promised to take over that watch while they were out of town. However, she was uncertain what to say when she arrived at their door, carrying food, so she asked if we would go over with her.

Grabbing my coat, I joined the entourage, as we carried over lasagna, bread, cake, and cookies.   We approached the house, looked in the backyard where a lawn mover had been left out, and decided to knock on the front door.

After a few seconds of considering what we would say, a tall, older man who was obviously sweating about his neck and face opened the door. He explained that he had just taken a short break from mowing the lawn. He invited us in after he heard that we were bearing food for a Christmas meal.

We filed into the front sitting room, where his wife was seated in a recliner, wearing oxygen tubes in her nose, and surrounded by reading materials. She gladly received the meal we were carrying, as she said that they didn’t have any food prepared for the day. Not that they were impoverished by the looks of things; the nice new television was playing, there were current books on the coffee table, a pretty heart necklace hung around her neck. It was more about the logistics of preparing a meal. “Driving to the store with the oxygen was a challenge as they had just gotten the portable tank, and it only kept a charge for a short time,” she explained.

After the initial introductions, my son, his wife, and her mother engaged the man in conversation about military service as he was wearing a Korean War t-shirt that he had just received as a Christmas present. I kneeled down in from of the lady, who seemed self-conscious about the oxygen tubes, and tried to put her at ease. She explained that she had fallen five months ago, broken her hip and spent months in rehab only to return home and fall again by tripping on her oxygen tubes and went back to rehab with a fractured neck. She had lost 100 pounds through it all and was limited in her movements by the length of tubing. She told me it was rough on her husband as he was terrified of using the microwave. He had his roles and she had hers. They were both concerned as to who would die first, leaving the other with all the roles to perform. I asked about their children.

She went on to tell me about them and who was the executor of their estate. She regretted not having a plan in place sooner, but they were now trying to downsize their belongings in anticipation of making a move to assisted living, closer to their son who was making the arrangements.

I told her I was the one who did that for my mom and what a privilege it was for me to be able to provide for her care. I encouraged her to enjoy her son’s help as it was an act of love.   She agreed that it was indeed an act of love. I told her that the “best was yet to come.” She gasped and said, “That saying is written on a sundial in our garden and we often say that.” I smiled and patted her hand, praying God’s blessing on their future plans. I could have stayed with her for a long time. However, we decided we had stayed long enough, but guaranteed any further assistance was just across the street. With smiles and hugs, we parted, feeling the spirit of Christmas embody our new friendship. It was the highlight of the day. As we walked away, we talked about how nice that encounter had been and considered when the next visit might be. I was proud of my daughter-in-law and pleased that she had given us all such a nice gift – a wonderful Christmas memory.

Sometimes when opportunity knocks, it takes a while to sort out the answer.  I have mulled over such an answer for some time now.  I refused the offer at first, but it was always in the back of my mind.  I tried to find someone else to seize the opportunity, but none prevailed.  I continued to consider the opportunity, making it a regular topic in prayer, and I looked for confirmation for a decision. While on a recent trip to the Smokey Mountains, my husband took this photo of me, relaxing in the warmth of our porch.  When I saw the photo, I found the answer that I sought.

A purple beam from above seemed to shine down upon me.  Purple?  Really?  The color of my watchband, my luggage, my purse, many of my clothes and accessories – the color I have worn for the last several years to represent the millions who are living with Alzheimer’s disease. Not that a beam of light was the main reason to help me decide, it was just more of a sign.  Okay, I thought, I’ll do it.

I’ve accepted the job of Ambassador for the Alzheimer’s Association for our area (AL 01).  That means I’ll be more vocal about the needs of families living with AD.  It means I’ll attend the Alzheimer’s Association Advocacy Forum in Washington, DC again this year and speak up in Montgomery when the time comes.  I want to see change in the many ways we serve and live with people with dementia.  May God bless all our efforts and inspire us to make positive changes.

It never gets any easier to walk away from my mother after a visit at the nursing home. Today was no different, although it is Friday, which means I won’t be back until Monday. I take the weekends off, confident that my sister will fill the void of the two afternoons while I have the luxury of staying home.

We visited the big activity room today, after the scheduled events had waned. Momma’s friend, Bobbie from her old neighborhood, spotted us from across the room and raised her hand in a wave to come to her. She had participated in the Thanksgiving themed plan of receiving cards from schoolchildren and drinking hot apple cider. The cups and napkins still sat on the table in front of her.

I pushed Momma’s wheelchair over to her and she greeted Momma, saying hello and waited for a response. Having been a nurse, she understood that Momma probably wouldn’t say any words but she still gave her the opportunity. I sat down in a chair and pulled Momma in close to Bobbie. Bobbie told me she wanted to go home. She was going to call a taxi and have them take her home.” If there was only someone there who could pay”…she broke off as tears overwhelmed her words. She thoughtfully reviewed all that was left of her family– and she named her children, leaving out her deceased husband’s name. I held her hand as she felt the wave of emotion take her to a sorrowful place. I sat there, feeling the sadness of time gone by, as I considered what I might say next, hoping I would be sensitive to her feelings. I handed her a tissue from Momma’s stash and she dabbed her face dry.

I asked her what she missed about her home. “Everything,” she declared. “Yard work?” I asked. “Yes!” she said. “Cleaning house?” “Especially cleaning house,” she emphasized. I asked her who cooked Thanksgiving dinner. “I did!” We then reviewed what her favorite menu was. “Turkey and dressing”, was her quick response. Ambrosia salad (we discussed what was actually in ambrosia salad and decided it was pretty tasty), potato salad, little green peas (a nearby resident added it had to be the tiny peas) and Bobbie agreed. Would there be gravy for the turkey and dressing? “Absolutely.”  What about dessert? “Oh, well, this year it will depend on what Morrison’s has to offer” (a nearby cafeteria). She knew for a fact that they would have sweet potato pie-her favorite.

I pulled out a satsuma from my purse, as all this talk of food was making me hungry. I offered one to her. The activity person saw me giving her food and announced that maybe she could have it, but she thought she required a soft diet. What did she have on that breakfast outing recently, she mused, loud enough for the entire room to consider with her. “Oh yeah, she ate cereal, it’s okay, I guess she can have it.” Bobbie looked at me and said, “I guess I can have it.”

I gave it to her and she put the fragrant citrus orb to her nose. She commented that she thought that she had a satsuma tree in her yard. I agreed that I thought she did. I took out another one from my purse and peeled it into a napkin. I fed one section to Momma, then a section to me. Bobbie commented that she liked that I fed Momma. We continued eating until it was all gone. Remarkably, Momma used the tissue I had placed in her hand to wipe her own nose. She was making an effort as we were in the company of someone who knew her from a previous place. Bobbie peeled her satsuma and shared it with a resident who came over, wanting a piece.

Then she took a section and reached over and offered it to Momma’s mouth like I had. I pulled Momma closer to Bobbie. Momma took it. After Momma had eaten it, Bobbie offered her the last piece. Momma ate it, too. Bobbie smiled with satisfaction and placed the orange peel into the napkin in my lap.  I saw that Bobbie enjoyed the act of giving and caring as much as I had enjoyed seeing her seize the opportunity.

It was getting close to four o’clock so we decided to go on back to the room. We left Bobbie sitting alone, since all the other residents had been delivered to their rooms, so the janitor could fold up the tables and clean the floor.

I felt her sadness again as she watched us walk away. Much like that same sadness I feel, knowing things will never be the way they used to be, as I leave my mother in her room, alone, uncertain, and vulnerable to the folks I entrust for her care.

The documentary, “I’ll Be Me” hit home many times as the tears welled up from the deep places I’ve hidden my grief. I could see or hear others in the almost filled auditorium that were experiencing similar feelings. Watching the story of Glen Campbell’s final tour as his dementia progressed was bittersweet. His life’s musical achievements are such a dominant thread in his life that those creative elements remain strong even as words and memories become distant. His ability to sing, read, and play the guitar gave me hope for continued sharing and connecting with the many I know with AD. Mr. Campbell said, “I’m still here but yet I’m gone.” His daughter, Ashley, says in the documentary, “Daddy, don’t you worry, I’ll do the remembering.” Mr. Campbell is fortunate to have close family relationships that know his story so well and can tap into that creative place to draw out communication as his dementia progresses.

Likewise, the artist, Hilgos, is featured in a collection of stories entitled, “I Remember Better When I Paint,” which tells the remarkable uncovering of her intact ability to paint and communicate through her art even after she was deemed “void and with no mind” by nursing home staff and doctors. This effort, inspired by her daughter who responded to her mother’s remark, “I remember better when I paint” hired an art student to prompt this retired artist to once again pick up a brush.

Although this positive response took several months of consistent presence on the part of the student, once the breakthrough came, the communication began. Following 91-year old Hilda’s lead, a memorable relationship developed that changed the course of both their lives. Hilda Gorenstein (Hilgos) returned to creating more works of art to be displayed and appreciated. Although Mrs. Gorenstein is now gone, that young art student, Jenny Graf Sheppard, continues to speak about and research the value of the arts with Alzheimer patients.

Dr. Gene Cohen writes “All of us have certain skills or interests that we have more highly developed than others- usually an area where we have, in some manner, been creatively engaged. The challenge is to help affected individuals find those areas and have an opportunity to tap them. The result is a quality of life that is increased by the satisfaction of being able to use that residual capacity.”1

Indeed, that is the challenge. Not all folks have the obvious talent that Glen Campbell has with his music and Hilgos had with her paintings. It is the mystery to be solved. Often, the duty is left to activity directors or private sitters who have little knowledge of the history of that individual. I am faced with that challenge on a daily basis with my mother and others whom I see whose mysteries remains unsolved.

I hope that Mr. Campbell’s caregivers sing to him those familiar songs that are hidden where memories never die – in that creative place that brings joy and beauty to those who see and hear. I am reminded what is written in Isaiah 61:3-4 “To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. KJV”.

When the creative is tapped, life is brought forth. Instead of the blank, “nothing is there” diagnosis, beauty is uncovered and rises from the ashes. Joy comes from that discovery, however brief, and thanks are given for the moment shared.

May we become more sensitive to the remaining qualities of those living with AD, recognize what they are and be sure to tap into that wellspring of life that remains.

Creating awareness of Alzheimer’s disease and offering emotional support is a goal of the Volunteers of America and of the Mobile Museum of Art “Keepsake” Program. Both recognize the growing need in our community and the coming tsunami of diagnosed cases that we are not prepared for.

To learn more about the Campbell’s effort to create awareness, go to glencampbellmovie.com.

To learn more about Hilda’s Gorenstein’s story, go to www.hilgos.org

1Cohen, Gene D. M.D., Ph.D. (2011). Creativity and Art in Promoting Health and Coping with Alzheimer’s in I Remember Better When I Paint, Berna G. Huebner, Editor.

The following story begins with carefully selected strangers who ultimately become deeply connected by the Memory Bridge experience. Not only were bridges built toward dementia awareness, a small army of networking, luminous warriors was also formed and commissioned to change the way we listen and respond in our care of people with dementia.

Lessons Learned from a Memory Bridge Retreat at a Tibetan Mongolian Buddhist Center

We began our earliest connections at the airport. My first encounter was with Mary. We recognized each other as Memory Bridge travelers, and began to connect. When the elusive shuttle bus arrived, others trickled out of the airport building and got on board. In all, we had five expectant sojourners making our way to the next check point – The Holiday Inn in Bloomington, Indiana. Some dozed and some looked out the window, while I listened in on a joint phone conversation with 1300 other listeners hosted by USAgainstAlzheimers. I reported what I learned from the call once we piled into the van that would take us to our destination.

Upon arrival, as more people gathered, we were shown our accommodations. Twelve of us were taken upstairs and given our assigned rooms. It was up to us to choose which bed to sleep on. My two roommates and I stood looking at the possibilities. Kathleen took the twin bed in the left corner immediately, leaving Bethany and me standing between a twin and full sized bed. With some hesitation followed by each giving the other the option to choose first, I decided on the other twin. We began our unpacking and exploration of how to share this intimate space.

Soon it was time to join the “circle” downstairs, which would be our place of learning, a place of being heard and hopefully, a place of being seen. Labeled “a place of deepening awareness,” Michael Verde’s Memory Bridge structure unfolded over the next four days. We kept to our schedule, which allowed enough space for all to participate. However, between the travel weariness, anticipation and overwhelming feeling of “how did I manage to get here with all these great people”, we must have looked somewhat haggard, since our sensitive leader took notice and began to work in more breaks in the schedule for rest and assignments.

We were given the opportunity to begin each morning with a walk down to the temple to practice morning meditation. I likened this to Matthew 6:6. The Message version of the Bible says, “Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.” I confess that I am a Christian and although well aware of that teaching, I more often than not, choose to “hit the ground running” on many days, and leave my talk with God to be on the go. However, as to receive all this retreat offered and to follow the schedule provided, and even risk offending God, I made my way to the temple. Led by a Tibetan Monk who spoke broken English, aside from listening to the opening prayer that we followed along in a prayer book, and a few breathing exercises, we sat in the lotus position, eyes closed, in silence for forty-five minutes. Once I got over the realization that he said 45 minutes and not four to five, I accepted the challenge even though I felt the need to move and stretch on occasion in order to endure. I wondered if the monk would correct me or if I was being offensive. I later realized I wasn’t in his mind at all as he had cleared his thoughts – no judgment on the way to Nirvana. Each day got easier and on the last day, I got the revelation that I was willing to do this ritual to please my host but not willing at home to do it to please God. – Lesson number one – take time to meditate in the morning, be still, and know God.

The time spent in our Memory Bridge circle produced many ah ha moments. You could see the light bulbs going off as we related our own struggles and experiences. Michael reminded us to “know less and become aware of more” several times. I kept thinking about that as I went through the day. Interacting with our buddies at Autumn Hills Alzheimer Special Care Center provided opportunity to unpack that challenge and we would return to the circle to investigate our findings. Our charge of “letting go, letting in, and letting be” became apparent in the many stories shared as we built bridges with our buddies and amongst ourselves. Since my return to the Alzheimer wing where my mother lives, I have been interacting with the various residents and staff on a deeper level – listening longer, drawing out meaningful interactions, and being less guarded, yet not apologetic or reluctant by my intentionality.

Within the circle, the underlying theme amongst our most intimate confessions was the feeling of not belonging. So here we were, in the land of misfit toys, sharing our journeys in spite of that longing. We found kinship and acceptance, followed by smiles, tears, clapping, and hugs. However, I most related to Michael’s “Listening Deeply in a Flat World” – a thought-provoking hypothesis of restructuring our social framework. Several quotes used resonated with my lot. Particularly, William James’ “No more fiendish punishment could be devised, were such a thing physically possible, than that one should be turned loose in society and remain absolutely unnoticed by all of the members thereof.” His pointing out that we live in a vertical (pyramidal) social order of “who we are is where we are” caused us to realize we’d probably sized our status up already within our circle and then we were charged to measure what it would be like without that structure. We considered what it must be like to have AD and the exile that ensues. My self-imposed status of nursing home resident with Alzheimer disease has been like joining a leper colony. We have our own community, removed and distinct from where we once lived. Michael referred to this status as “the living dead.” He put his finger on what I’ve been feeling for so long. I have felt removed, isolated, and lonely while caring of my mother.I found that my personal challenge is to stop grasping to convince myself that I am here and that I matter. I wondered if needing to matter is what motivates most of what I write about. Lesson number two –Empathetic listening helps us realize how much alike we really are. Lesson number three – I don’t have to prove myself to feel good about the care I provide for my mother.

My first night with my roommates was very quiet as I managed to get in there after they were asleep and the lights were out. I was grateful for my phone light and for the headlamp I had brought along. I was able to change in the dark for bed and once in bed, write in my journal, wearing the light strapped to my forehead. Thankfully, I didn’t wake anyone. The next night, I was in the light, interacting with my roomies. It didn’t take long to discover that the woman in the next bed had the knack of listening to me in such a way that all the stories I shared about “living in a nursing home” drew peals of uncontrollable infectious laughter. That just fueled the fire, and I found great healing by having this delightful nymph not only listening, relating, and validating but seeing me in a humorous way. The dry desert of my exile into the “land of living dead” began to flow with living water. Up to this point, my source of living water has been the Holy Spirit, who fills and renews me as I pour out to others. However, Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said, “This is my commandment, that you love one another, that your joy may be full”. I remembered as I grew up with my father, mother, and older sister, I was the one who made everyone laugh. I’d forgotten about that little girl and wondered where she is. We stayed up late at the expense of our sleeping roommate who later assured me that she enjoyed going to sleep to sounds of giggling and waking to the sounds of giggling.

Word got around, and with the mention of chocolate, that double bed became the after hours communal circle. What didn’t get said during the day was given the opportunity to be said that night. More confessions were spoken, surprising even us at our ready transparency. Equated with a college dorm experience, we held on to the magic moments until the wee hours of the night. By the fourth night, although the licorice supply was almost depleted and the chocolate was long gone, we added music and the pictures came out to show off our families, pets, and hairstyles. We knew our time was fleeting and this was too precious to pass up – an opportunity to have girlfriends to confide in. The big bed lent itself to comfort, closeness and coziness. However, I remained upon my solitary bed looking over at this cuddly group. Since there was limited floor space in our room, during the day, I kept my suitcase upon my bed. Maybe it stood as a barrier to invitation.   My sweet, welcoming roommate was having the same effect on our visitors that she had on me. She later remarked that they were “piled up like puppies,” as the women enjoyed the closeness. I noticed as the pictures began to post in Facebook, that Bethany had this effect with others throughout the retreat. In fact, she was the one who brought our awareness that “vulnerability is the birthplace of love.”   I was aware of her inclusive ways and intentional interaction with me and appreciated her awareness to my somewhat guarded singular persona. I remember hearing myself quote Maya Angelou’s truth that “people don’t remember what you said or what you did, but they remember how you made them feel”. I appreciate the people who took me aside and gave me encouraging, validating words. My surprise at their kindness made me feel like I’d found that funny little girl who just wanted to help people feel better. Lesson number four – be more aware of how I make people feel. Lesson number five – vulnerability is the birthplace of love.

These two strong lessons are important for all our relationships. I considered my husband and how I must make him feel. I considered the faces of people I interact with in the nursing home, especially the staff. Do I still come across as someone who doesn’t need help? Oh contraire.   I remembered that my sister has stepped up to help when I become vulnerable, rather than the person in charge. The goal of Memory Bridge is “the ability to attend more fully”. I believe I am moving toward that. I embrace care giving as a spiritual practice. At the retreat, I had made the trip into the darkness of my past and the loneliness of not being seen with my fellow seekers, but I don’t live there much of the time. Not only do my visits to the nursing home bring others pleasure, but I thrive on the friendships and interactions I have. I have learned to “stand in a place that we would rather not” as Jane quoted. Pauline quietly shared profound, meaningful thoughts that enforced my belief that “each person is an expert at any given time on what they need” and “that I was attempting to empower the person who is living their life.” I loved what one of the buddies said, ”The only place for a person to really be is with another person.” My most meaningful revelation is in Matthew 25:40 which says “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me” ESV. In my service to the “land of the living dead” I am serving Christ. For me, it doesn’t get any better than that.

When the retreat was over, we took the reverse order of travel, making our way home as different people. We chatted continuously with our friends on the bus, took photos and promised to remain connected. One by one, we parted until there were four of us “girls” going through security. We became playful after the security officer offered to call my friend over the loud speaker while I waited for her to get through. That brought more shrieks of laughter and photo opportunities, as we were all awarded junior officer status with sticker badges. We raced in the hallways of the airport against the moving sidewalk and had a final meal together. Our time was almost up and we lingered as long as we could. My final farewell was to my roommate, Kathleen, as the doors to the concourse closed behind me and I watched her move out of sight. Now we are left with our memories and introspection. What we do with an increased awareness of empathy in listening is wide open. I remembered that our last activity together to close our circle was led by our therapeutic clown. She had us shake our bodies all over and move in close, reach across until we could touch fingers, then lift our hands and throw our energy up into the air with a loud shout. All that we had learned was released and made available into the universe. We are like the lightening bugs that sparkled after dusk when we came out of from our evening meditation – lighthouses that give direction and safety to those with dementia.

I don’t want to ever lose what I felt with the delightful company created at Memory Bridge. I am grateful for Michael’s passion for the pursuit of empathetic listening and bridge building. His ability to put into words what I’ve been trying to express is a relief to me. Hearing his voice and seeing what he inspires, I am hopeful for the many affected with Alzheimer’s disease. Especially knowing the people at the retreat who are on the same page. I say, go Michael, go Memory Bridge, and go people of purpose who attended the retreat. And go to the many who will be inspired as a result.

How have these lessons changed me? On my way out of the Wal-Mart parking lot today, I approached an intersection where a man was sitting in the grass, holding a handwritten sign. I noticed his ruddy face and tobacco stained moustache. I thought, in my usual way, that he might do better by working than sitting in the sun all day looking for a handout. Then I noticed the Vietnam hat he wore. I immediately thought of my buddy back in Bloomington who proudly wore his WWII hat whenever he left his room. I realized that this man held his identity in that hat and hoped to be seen as somebody who once belonged and mattered. I fished out a five-dollar bill and rolled down the window. I confess this is the first time I have responded in this manner to someone on the side of the road holding a sign. He thanked me for whatever I was about to give him. Then he said, “Do you have a family member in the service?” I said, “Yes, my father served in WWII.” “Is he still living?” he asked. “No” I replied. He reported the latest statistic that every 90 seconds a WWII vet dies in this country. He looked at the bill in his hand and said that it would help a lot. I held his gaze and saw him. And for a moment, he saw me.

Sitting in the Library of Congress, I paused to soak in the celebration of so many authors who made lasting marks with their written words.  My favorite quote of the day inscribed on the wall high above a window read, “Words are also actions and actions are a kind of words.”  Today, my words have led to action.  In August of 2012, I visited Washington, DC.  I toured the Botanical Gardens and struck up a conversation with a Washington policeman who told me of his lengthy career on the force.

As he handed me an US Capital Police patch, he offered me a special treat:  a tour of the Capital building and to arrange a flag to be flown over the Capital in my name.  I declined, saying, “I’d rather have a flag flown over the Capital to honor those with Alzheimer’s Disease, because of what we’ve encountered by caring for my mother, my mission is to raise awareness for the sake of other families facing this long, sad journey.”   Little did I know that twenty months later, I would storm the Capital with 850 other passionate AD advocates to rally support for families with AD.  By writing my blog, along with various articles and keeping up with local resources for networking, my words got me to Washington as an advocate. My prayer for this trip was for God to protect my travels, put me where He could use me, and to show me favor.  He came through on all requests.

Surprisingly, as I stepped off the shuttle bus in front of Capital Hill, this policeman happened to pass by.  I called to him, got a big hug, and told him I’d come back, wearing my purple banner with so many other “flag” bearers to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves.  I doubt if he remembered me but I certainly knew him. Prophecy fulfilled!

This wasn’t the first “coincidence” I experienced on this trip. Starting with the plane ride from Houston to D.C., I found a fellow Forum traveler across the aisle from me.

Once I arrived at the Renaissance Hotel, I went into the Grand Ballroom, amidst a sea of 850 plus people wearing purple.  I looked for a table to sit at for the day.  I randomly chose one, briefly said my introductions and sat down.  Next person to sit down was an outspoken fellow, familiar with the group I’d chosen and declared,” I guess you’ll have to sit with an Alabamian!” 

Not only was he an advocate from Alabama but writes for the newspaper as well – Mark McCarter.  These are the people I would later visit two Senators with!  Again, proximity!  Next day, I attempted to meet a Memory People Facebook friend.  I stood before the huge crowd in the doorway, with the phone to my ear, talking to my never before seen “friend”, trying to tell her my location. Turned out, I happened to be standing right by her table!  She said she’d been trying to hook up with another Memory People friend who, lo and behold,  I discovered was in my group, so I led her to connect with our new “friend”.

As the day of training wore in, I went to the lady’s room to freshen up.  As I stood in front of the sink, washing my hands, I noticed by her name tag that the lady next to me was from Las Vegas.  I remarked that my son’s girlfriends’ father lived in Las Vegas and told her his name.  “Oh, I know him, he is a wonderful person,” she declared. Can anybody say, “It’s a small world?”

To give even too much information, as I prepared myself for the special National dinner by arranging my hair, I asked God to help me make my unwieldy mane look good.  Once ready, I walked the three blocks to the hotel in the early evening air, knowing my efforts would be blown away before my entrance to the reception.  The first person I encountered was a woman from my group who commented, “Your hair looks nice.”  The only hair comment I got all trip.  I had to thank my Lord for watching out for me in the crowd of people, letting me know He was with and  for me.

The “Hill Day” gave us opportunity to navigate Washington like never before.  We had to wait in a line to pass through security to get into the Russell Senate Office Building to visit our senators. We had a great interview with Jeff Sessions’ staff, who took notes as we told our tale of woe, giving her the lowdown of the high costs of care, the high rate of incidence coupled with the low amount of money given for research.  Our meeting was followed by our Alabama Alzheimer Association Director, Kevin Burke, who had an impromptu meeting with Sessions in the hall and speaking to him directly.  Kevin later told us, “that is how it’s done in Washington.” Senator Sessions response was positive toward our cause.

Next visit was with Senator Richard Shelby, who we met in the hall and had a photo op with after our meeting with his staff.  He told us of a dear friend of his wife, a very smart man who had succumbed to the ravages of AD. He gave us his appreciation of our efforts and his support of the upcoming bills we were promoting.

As I strolled toward the Rayburn House to find Rep. Bradley Byrne’s office, David, head of the Ambassador Program for the Alz Assoc. stood beside me as we waited to walk across the street.  Seeing the long line, he said to me, “Come on, I’ll show you another, little known entrance.”  So we strolled right in with no waiting through the “horseshoe entrance” which was lined with blooming cherry trees.

After seeing Rep. Byrne leave his office and not return by our appointment time, I knew we wouldn’t be talking directly to  him after all.  We met with a staffer and accomplished our purpose.  As we walked to the elevator, Rep. Byrne stepped out in front of us.  I immediately hung up on the person I was speaking with on the phone, slide the phone in my pocket and extended my hand, saying, “I’m Beth Reinert from Mobile.  Congratulations on your recent election…” He listened to our story. He gave us his support.  Another mission accomplished with photos to boot.

Next, I went with Peter Cowley, Assoc. Director of our AL/FL Panhandle Alz. Assoc and Dr. Rodney Guttman, Alz Researcher at the University of West FL, to speak with Rep. Jeff Miller from Florida.  I got to listen to the good doctor argue for the cause of AD.  To think how difficult it’s been to find a doctor who was familiar with AD, and this trip allowed us several meals together, giving me plenty of time to talk to him and have my questions answered.

Satisfied that all had gone well, I sat in the Reagan National Airport, ready to board my flight home, when I saw a familiar face in the crowd.  After so much practice today, without hesitation I walked over to him and extended my hand saying, “You look like the mayor of my city.”  Indeed, he was our own newly elected Sandy Stimpson who I would learn had also met with the same men I had but for other matters. I told him about the upcoming 2014 Walk to End Alzheimer’s in Daphne and in Mobile in 2015.  It was a comfort to have Mayor Stimpson nearby for the ride home and yes, I got a selfie to add to my other photo memories of such a great trip!

The trip was as I had hoped and better than I expected.  I am thankful to be in this position to speak for the voiceless and to raise awareness of the destruction of Alzheimer’s disease.  Please join me in the fight for better care and support, more research funding and promotion of brain health.  We can all benefit from that.

“If God is for us, who can be against us.” (Romans 8:31 NAS).