While I was signing in at the front door of the personal care facility, a woman came up to me with a determined stride. She stood in the doorway and said, “What are you doing here?” I do not know if she recognized me from other times I have come (twice per week in the last two months), but it is doubtful. I am familiar with her though because she is often in the community t.v. room — not typically looking quite this uncertain.

I responded, “There are folks here that I visit.” She replied, “Can you visit me?” So I said, “Sure.”

When I stepped inside the building she asked, wide-eyed, “Can you take me home?”

In June (2021), I had the fortune of attending an Adult Children of Aging Parents (ACAP) online seminar with Dr. Edward Shaw where he presented on Managing behaviors of Alzheimer’s and other age-related dementias. Between that discussion and having read his book, I had a starting idea of how to respond to the vulnerable question of this woman.

I suggested we sit down together to talk. I showed her my name tag; she read it three times and complimented my picture. I asked her name, but she struggled with that (possibly more difficult because mine was still visible to her). She gave me consent to hold her hand and I explained that I came to sit and keep company with people. Then I took out two watercolor paintings I hoped would interest and distract-calm her.

In an abrupt shift in tone, she immediately and rapidly said, “I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what that is.” She shook her head, “I don’t know.” I responded, “It is a water lily or lotus.” Her facial expression scrunched up. “Lotus. I don’t know what a lotus is.” I said, “That’s all right. I have another.”

The second painting was sort of a field of flowers.

I said, “I was trying to learn how to paint daisies.” She said, calmly, “Oh, daisies.” I said she could hold onto the painting while she watched the t.v. program.

When I went to the room of my assigned visit, the t.v. was also on — appearing to be a Christmas program of some sort. She immediately smiled and turned to face me. As I sat down, I made small talk about the afghan crocheted blanket on her chair and the empty bird feeder by her window. The water lily was still at the top of my bag and I brought it out to show her.

“Ooh! I like that! I like the pink. I like that.” She touched the painted petals.

I went through my collection of things and found every image I had which included spots of bright pink — an outdated calendar image of a ladybug beneath another flower, a photograph of Christo and Jeane-Claude’s pink islands, a sunset landscape. Using a dry erase board with written options, we exchanged thoughts on how bright colors make us feel and other peaceful ideas (ocean waves, mountain snow, trees, birds). She had previously selected an Ansel Adams black and white mountain landscape beside her bed, and when I asked if she would like to swap it for the water lily she immediately agreed.

“Yes! That’s good. I like the pink. I like that.”

Next week I will bring bird seed so maybe we can watch birds at her window.

End blip.