We’ve reached an exciting (and slightly terrifying) stage of life over here- we are in the process of buying our first house. Since we found out that Mark matched locally, we’ve been working with a realtor and hoping to find a place to call home in our current town. The right house in the right location for the right price came along, and we jumped on it.
The kids are looking forward to having their own rooms and are already planning sleepovers with their cousins. Mark is thrilled that the house is in great shape and he won’t be required to do more than the usual amount of home maintenance. I’m anticipating warm spring mornings walking (!!!!) to daily mass at the parish across the street (not our own, but hey, walkable).
And Gram, Gram is very confused. And anxious.
I expected a need to slowly prepare the kids for a move. We started having casual conversations about the fact that when it’s summer this year we won’t be in our current house and so G can’t teach Will to climb the big tree; that we’ll have to plant all the seeds they harvested last year in the new yard; that we can, of course, have our current next door neighbors over to visit. What I didn’t expect, and probably should have, was a need to prepare Gram.
I know I’ve written about her dementia before, but each change in our home life brings it to the forefront more and more these days. On Thursday I went out for 3 hours in the afternoon for our home inspection. I explained it all to Gram, and my mom was at the house to watch the kids, which is not unusual. But she was so lost that she spent the whole time worrying aloud about where I was and when I would be back. It’s in moments like that when I remember that I really am her touchstone and need to do a better job of keeping her close, of making sure she has enough touch points during the day with me to feel secure, just like I do with my kids.
Gram gets verbally aggressive and grouchy when she’s anxious, which is not uncommon among people with dementia- they feel out of their depth and on the defensive-, meaning it’s always best to do what we can to alleviate her suffering for her own and everyone else’s comfort.
So we’ve re-tooled our approach to the move, and it’s been helping. I thought I’d share what’s working in case anyone else finds themselves in the midst of a similar situation.
I try to consciously sit down and give her my full attention at least once a day to listen to whatever is on her mind. This doesn’t mean that I only talk to her once a day, but rather, that I’m trying to make sure that I slow down and spend a little extra time filling the emotional bank account.
I’m also trying to pay closer attention to her nervous gestures and respond to them immediately (as opposed to handling one of the kids’ needs first), so she has a stronger sense of security that her needs are met and she’ll be taken care of. When Gram is confused, she touches both sides of her face at the same time. It’s a calming gesture, and an indication that something is troubling her. We’ve been noticing more of it lately, so when I see it, I’m trying to be more conscious of when, why, and what events preceded it.
We are all of us, Mark, my Mom, and I trying to have regular, casual conversations with her about the new house, in the hopes that the more we talk about it, describe it, explain the logistics of the move, the easier the actual process of settling her into a new place will be. That’s the prayer anyways. We’re still learning.