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August 10th, 2022
Exactly three months before the day she died, our day looked like this.
About five days earlier, my mom, grandpa, grandma and I had arrived to my grandparents' cabin in Lake Tahoe after a long drive from Phoenix, AZ. It has been home to the two of them since the early 1980s and became a retreat once they had moved from Northern California to be closer to my family in Arizona. Every summer before this, my sibling and I would live with my grandparent's in the cabin and help them get around town, pickup medicine and groceries, go to appointments, make dinner, etc.
As per this tradition, we went back to Tahoe for a short stay this summer with both of my parents to help with caregiving. On August 10, we followed our typical routines of being late to rise and staying in our pajamas until about 10 am. Around noon, my grandma asked me for some candy, so I got the both of us some bowls of the Ben n Jerry's Half Baked ice cream in the freezer. While enjoying this ice cream lunch, she and I became very engaged with the music that had been filling the background.
Clips 1.movThe cabin has poor wifi connections, so the music kept cutting in and out. We sang to it anyway and she corrected the lyrics when they didn't come soon enough.
After finishing her ice cream, my grandma’s hands were free and she was able to dance more expressively and showed some lyrical choreography to Ricky Nelson's Travelin' Man.
I moved from my chair at our dining table to sit in the rocking chair next to the couch. She sat on the couch with her signature vertical pillow position, which she developed over time after too many midday naps that resulted in a sore neck from a crooked sleeping head. We all knew about her pillow preferences and were sure to attentively adjust the couch to her liking. On this trip, I made sure to bring an extra pillow from home (seen in the video) which she quickly loved. She often would show us her pillow with pride and demonstrate how perfectly it supported her neck and head. The pillow was viewed by all as particularly clever, and she would be able to tell that there wasn't something right if she sat on a couch without her favorite plush support.
IMG_7259.movIMG_7262.movWith the sun shining on her classic white sneakers, I watched as she enjoyed every moment of Barry White's The First, The Last, My Everything and patted her legs to the beat. For most of the song, she was completely absorbed in the act of moving to the music. Towards the end, she redirected her attention to me. Seeing me smiling at her, she grinned back as I cheered on her moves. Her ability to move her feet and arms simultaneously in time with the beat and then switch to a wavy arm movement when the song’s background singers come in is marvelous to me. Her wavy arm dancing is reminiscent of another activity…water aerobics! Throughout her adulthood she diligently attended water aerobics and zumba classes. It was her preferred physical activity, probably because she always loved the ocean or water in general and music. I remember being eight and visiting their home in Woodland, CA where they had a pool (the dream for any kid from Arizona). She’d often get in the water with us, but not before strapping on her water aerobics belt and getting her water weights situated. It all stuck in her muscle memory and reappeared in a way that adapted to her current state and needs. Most of the artifacts of her dancing incorporate moves that reflect this lifelong involvement.
Her energy was completely magnetic. After having a stressful morning, my grandpa came over to see what we were up to. Once my grandma spotted him, she persuaded him to join and the two of them bopped along to December, 1963.
IMG_7263.movBut, what happens to the loss of self that is ensured to happen in these later stages (Cohen & Eisdorfer, 2002; Kumar & Delmundo, 2020)? I thought we were supposed to expect that the person in front of us is just simply a shadow of once was (Lushin, 1990)?
By enjoying music from her past and anticipating its beat while dancing in a way that incorporates her previous favorite physical activity in life, Dawn disrupts the idea that the self disappears throughout Alzheimer’s. She communicates joy, relaxation, and nostalgia through her enjoyment of company while listening to music and dancing. As explained by Grøn, a simple video of dancing can be analyzed as a collection of life experiences that are transformed and translated into the present moment. The artifacts here contain my grandma’s imagistic signatures, or her “distinctive, embodied mark of being in the world,” that gives voice and expression without requirements of speaking or writing (2022, p. 89). Without speaking, her signatures express all the information I need as a caregiver to ensure her immediate comfort and contentment.
And as you can hear in the background, my grandma made me constantly giggle and loved this attention. These moments where we step into each other's undivided attention were so structurally important to the lack of friction in our caregiving relationship. They were times where I was welcomed into her present worlds and realities. The emotional landscape of these realms was always one of love and connection without a need for time or labels or names.
Stepping into her world let us learn who each other were and understand who each other was in every moment. It was a world where we mutually searched for the hidden clues that would let us know more about the person in front of us. She would tell me that she used to live in Northern California. I would be excited to share that Northern California is where my entire family is from. The connection that came from these moments is incredible to reflect on. I think about times when I have been in a new place or situation, where I don't know anyone, and am searching for anything that connects me to home and the familiar. Even finding someone from my region of the country in these situations feels like the first breath of fresh air after finally opening a window in a stuffy room.
This is how it would feel to meet each other over and over. She often seemed relieved to see me, even if she couldn’t place my name or relation to her. When we met each other, it felt like we were resurrecting pieces of home that neither of us ever knew. They were spaces of interaction that generated new feelings of knowing one another.
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