Its hard to remember what happened first, who I met, and what I did. All I can tell you, for sure, is that the first encounter made me return.
First though, many of you will be confused what this blog is about or what its purpose is-so let me tell it to you straight: Currently, I volunteer on an (almost) regular weekly basis, usually Friday evenings, at a Alzheimer Care Center and this blog will be about my experiences, the people I meet, and miscellaneous musings coupled with Alzheimer's research. It's my goal to make more people aware of Alzheimer so eventually all of us can work together towards a cure.
So, what is Alzheimer's?
In Alzheimer's disease, the brain cells degenerate and die, causing a steady decline in memory and mental function.
Source:http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/alzheimers-disease/home/ovc-20167098
That is probably the most heartbreaking part of volunteering. It's not like I see them on a daily basis, granted, but every week I go in its a blank state. They don't remember me, my name, that I fed them last week, sang carols with them, or simply talked to them. I've decided to not let it affect and reframed my thought process: it's like starting over new at school. That's an easy enough connection to make since I've been to 9 schools in my lifetime and counting...
Interestingly enough, there is one person that does remember, vaguely and iridescently, but every time I make eye contact with her as I walk in: she smiles at me with a spark of recognition. Maybe I am delusional to believe that she does remember me. But there's this warm and firm feeling like iron smelting inside of me and I can't help but to hope. Another key point: she's the first person I striked up a conversation with at the Memory Home.
Note: From now on I will refer to the center as Home.
Thinking about the first day, though the memory isn't razor sharp, the essence fills my mind like poured tea: a pool of tranquil imbued with tinges of excitement and ripples of anxiety. What I do remember from that first day is talking to Miss Margaret about this and that-hair was debated with compliments on both fronts (she really has the most lovely hair for her age-future goal?)- singing carols with Miss Margaret, and saying goodbye. I smiled, but it was bittersweet. There was a sense of fulfillment, happiness, laced with a sense of regret. Somehow it felt like leaving a safe haven behind to enter reality once again.
No matter how much school frustrates and exhausts me, once I enter the Home, my batteries become recharged and I get so engrossed in conversation that I've started to think it's funny how many sides of a person really exists. I'm looking forward to discovering myself, but most of all I hope that the people at the Home are happy and enjoy their time as much as I enjoy spending time with them.
First though, many of you will be confused what this blog is about or what its purpose is-so let me tell it to you straight: Currently, I volunteer on an (almost) regular weekly basis, usually Friday evenings, at a Alzheimer Care Center and this blog will be about my experiences, the people I meet, and miscellaneous musings coupled with Alzheimer's research. It's my goal to make more people aware of Alzheimer so eventually all of us can work together towards a cure.
So, what is Alzheimer's?
In Alzheimer's disease, the brain cells degenerate and die, causing a steady decline in memory and mental function.
Source:http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/alzheimers-disease/home/ovc-20167098
That is probably the most heartbreaking part of volunteering. It's not like I see them on a daily basis, granted, but every week I go in its a blank state. They don't remember me, my name, that I fed them last week, sang carols with them, or simply talked to them. I've decided to not let it affect and reframed my thought process: it's like starting over new at school. That's an easy enough connection to make since I've been to 9 schools in my lifetime and counting...
Interestingly enough, there is one person that does remember, vaguely and iridescently, but every time I make eye contact with her as I walk in: she smiles at me with a spark of recognition. Maybe I am delusional to believe that she does remember me. But there's this warm and firm feeling like iron smelting inside of me and I can't help but to hope. Another key point: she's the first person I striked up a conversation with at the Memory Home.
Note: From now on I will refer to the center as Home.
Thinking about the first day, though the memory isn't razor sharp, the essence fills my mind like poured tea: a pool of tranquil imbued with tinges of excitement and ripples of anxiety. What I do remember from that first day is talking to Miss Margaret about this and that-hair was debated with compliments on both fronts (she really has the most lovely hair for her age-future goal?)- singing carols with Miss Margaret, and saying goodbye. I smiled, but it was bittersweet. There was a sense of fulfillment, happiness, laced with a sense of regret. Somehow it felt like leaving a safe haven behind to enter reality once again.
No matter how much school frustrates and exhausts me, once I enter the Home, my batteries become recharged and I get so engrossed in conversation that I've started to think it's funny how many sides of a person really exists. I'm looking forward to discovering myself, but most of all I hope that the people at the Home are happy and enjoy their time as much as I enjoy spending time with them.
