Who Cares?

Anna Strosser's memoir served as a reminder that even with the devastating loss of watching someone go through dementia, there is beauty that remains and changes both in the individual and in the individual's relationships. I was most affected by Ken's short letter included at the end of the piece, which allowed the memoir to end on a fairly settling note--with the subjective experience of the individual living with dementia, from whom we are so rarely able to hear. Ken expresses his values, what he is grateful for, and what matters for him on a daily basis. We are offered a window into his frustrations (the repetition of the baseball games, and the missing puzzle pieces), but we also get to see Ken put things in perspective. So often, those living with dementia are subjects of extreme pity, to the point where people avoid interactions that might make them feel depressed. Certainly, Ken's atypical way of functioning in the world disables him in many situations, and takes a great toll on Anna because of it. But just as we reconsider our values and what matters most when we suffer a smaller loss, Ken's letter demonstrates the ways in which he readjusts to cope with the memory he has lost (even if he is unaware he has lost it). Certainly, this is what I keep in mind in thinking of my own grandfather, himself dealing with dementia. Though I can easily be disheartened by a birthday phone call in which he calls even himself by the wrong name, we manage to cope with it together with a gentle correction and a laugh. There are much bigger things to be worried about, when you put it in perspective. I would like to ask Anna about how she has watched Ken readjust and fight to stay positive, and how she has, in turn, done the same.