The season has changed. Summer has ended and Autumn has begun. So many times throughout our lives we encounter these moments. The end and the beginning, the last time and the first time.
We are not always aware of the last time something occurred in our lives the same way we are when something begins. We know the first time we visit a new place, start a new job or school. We are not always aware of the last time we visited a loved one, the last time we climbed that mountain, or the last time we celebrated a milestone. We live in the messy unknown and do our best to savor time with loved ones, the beauty that surrounds us, and the areas in life that bring us joy.
Dementia or not, this is a reality. As we enter these final 100 days of the year when the seasonal changes are most noticeable, and we start seeing glimmers of the upcoming holiday season, may we both savor this time (including the difficult moments) and have an awareness that we may be experiencing a series of “lasts.” This is not meant to be a doom and gloom moment, but one of “Memento Mori” of preparation knowing we will die and that our loved ones will pass, and to keep our gaze on Heaven.
When I was working in a Memory Care community, there was a span of about two months when it felt like every day I would open my email to see that someone had died. This takes its toll. Another death, another vacant room, another conversation with residents who ask about an individual, another family that comes in to pack the things of their loved one. To get through this period, thinking of death in that Memento Mori way, led to my ability to savor the daily tasks of my job, to further become relational with the residents, to see them, and their (and my own) humanity, and to accompany each person even when they didn’t remember who I was or why I was in the room.
When my grandmother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in 2020, that same approach helped me to see the world differently as she was dying. Our afternoon chocolate breaks, the moments sitting in silence with one another, and the daily tasks of care became moments to not dread (even those that were horribly difficult emotionally and physically for the family) but moments knowing that this is an ending, and one day, her voice will be heard only in old family videos, her handwriting only viewed by looking back at the notes she sent me while away at college, or living in New York. I was prepared for each experience, or each day as if it was an end.
We need to start thinking and talking about death and dying, endings and last times. So much about this season has become cliche over the past decade, but the lessons about life we can take from this time remain true. The leaves are changing colors and we see, for the last time this year the lush green of our yards, fields, and parks. We clear out the potted plants and mow the lawn for the final time. We witness an exchange of bright colors for rust, brown, red, and yellow tones. We close our windows for the last time and turn on the heat. We move from campfires to fires in the fireplace. We never know what day will be the last day we see or do any of these things for the year, so as we move through each day, may we find joy in the unknown. May we recognize the rush of emotions and exhaustion in caring for and visiting our loved ones, and choose to store these moments in the folder titled, “Beauty.”
Let us ask Christ to guide us, be with us, and help us embrace the messy unknowns, and difficult endings, and to savor the last times.