All in for ALTRUISM

From Seeking the Sacred, by Stephanie Dowrick - -

Seeing ourselves as spiritual beings (however loosely we define that) gives us the confidence to develop our capacities for engagement & altruism, to be stimulated & provoked as we connect with other people in their wondrous complexity, honing our spiritual resources & values & living them out.  It also gives us the confidence to forgive life & ourselves when things do not go to plan.  The priceless view & the confidence that comes with it need not depend on formal religious affiliation (although it might include it);  it depends on identity, values, outlook & attitude. 

Ah, a slew of my favorite words - engagement & altruism, confidence, identity, values, outlook & attitude.

The word that most stands out in this present moment is altruism.  I’ve become someone who utterly wallows in altruism.  I absolutely love it!   

For me, altruism is spectacularly liberating.  It frees me to provide valuable services without cost to not only the barely-squeaking-by, but also to the flagrantly well-off who sometimes lack the tender self-awareness to see where sinking a few bucks in an unlikely place would yield significant dividends.  

 I think about older friends coping with the cost of services & support – it’s not unusual for what I offer to be cut back when other more basic ones become financially draining.  If I have a free evening & they are by themselves for dinner, why not step up & fill what can be a very significant void?

That’s something I’ve never gleaned – being able to do something that would help others without doing harm to me, yet hold back simply because no one is paying me.  Since what feels like forever, there's joy to offering a helping hand, to expand someone's life experience & ideally empower their spirit.

It doesn’t make me a goody two shoes - just my nature.   

And it has its own very real rewards.  When the comfortably-off friend talks about my driving her to an important appointment as a gift from me to her, it matters to me that she GETS it.  When an elderly friend faces dinner alone, there’s reward beyond measure in being there to lighten the meal & evening.  

 

 

Pro bono publico – for the public good.  It is my belief that we are all called to do all we can for individuals as well as for the common good, that private good contributes to, supports public good.  

Few people would dispute that money is a form of energy, helping fuel our lives & dreams.  For me, being of use is an even more essential energy source.  Being paid is nice, but when it’s not in the cards, I don't hold its lack as reason to hold back when I can help out.  And I don't do means testing before offering my aid.  

The very first thing John learned from me about my birth faith was its strong belief in being of use.  Hey, being useful – acting from a deep faith in doing things pro bono – was taught to me from the cradle.  

The question isn’t why do I go out of my way to lend the helping hand, but why is it considered almost suspect?

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Seems like old times

 

Working with older friends & their families reminds me of mannnnnnnny years back, when I had the pleasure of teaching middle school in my little hometown.  

Every year, before the start of school, teachers received their students' files.  It wasn't laziness that kept me from so much as peeking at any of them until after the first marking period.  Time & again, because I didn't have prior knowledge about some bad behavior or difficult learning challenge, it never  became a problem.  

A similar dynamic happens in working with older friends.  Many of the issues that their children or other loved ones anticipate rearing their heads don't come up because I am oblivious about past histories.  

The worst thing any child or class can hear is a teacher assuring them, "With the new year, you're starting with a clean slate," a statement which to this day causes my blood to chill.  When teachers felt compelled to say that, you knew you were marked, because no one says it unless they know exactly what's been written on that slate.  Once read, it can't be erased, no matter how much a teacher or school administrator might think it possible.  

As soon as I heard that, I knew I was doomed.  So, as a teacher, I decided to wait.  

In the here & now, it's not knowing all the decades of parent-child history that tends to stand me in good stead.  I can experience what a parent might consider a "willful, strong-headed" child as caring & devoted, or the emotional generosity of what to an adult child is an "utterly self-absorbed" parent.  

Time & again, just like so many decades ago, what I don't know can help & even heal.  

A side of unexpected insight

 

Am constantly astonished by all I gain working with my older friends, especially insights into character & courage.  

One of my clients recently moved from independent living to the personal care unit at her "life care" retirement community.  To me, it's a totally win-win change.  It's a lovely environment.  From the colors of the walls to the view out her window to the welcoming presence of staff & her neighbors in the halls, it's much warmer than where she lived for the previous five years.

Her unhappiness with the move goes beyond the natural sense of discomfort over shifting from a previous situation to a new one.  I doubt there is a single person in independent care who doesn't consider my friend the nicest, most pleasant & open to friendship person in the whole place.  Alas, the people where she lives now are seeing someone much different.  She doesn't even seem to try to get to know the new faces, doesn't seem to care that there are quite a few there she already knows & considers friends.  

Last night, I got a clearer insight into the WHY behind her persistent sadness over the change.  She's dealing with so much more than the loss of familiar routine (highly prized by people dealing with serious memory challenges).  She's trying to cope as best as possible with the loss of all the friendships made over the past five years, relationships that are the very foundation of the happiness she's felt in her current home.

 

She hasn’t lost them.  The only place she ever saw them was in the breakfast room or where she regularly has dinner.  Other than an occasional wave & friendly smile in the hallways, the only time they connect is at breakfast & dinner, and not always then.   

It’s understandable that losing connection with those five men & women would break her heart.  But she hasn’t.  I go over to breakfast six mornings out of seven.  She only takes two suppers out of seven in the personal care dining room – all the rest she either takes in the one in independent living or out with friends or family.   

She sees her cherished friends every morning – one always sits right behind us at breakfast, always greets her – and often at night. 

But she doesn’t remember.  

Last night was fiercely illuminating.  It was my husband’s 70^th birthday, so I threw a party for him there, in our favorite dining room.  Our full table – six older friends & the two of us – rocked with conversation & laughter.  Couldn't get much better – celebrating a big moment with friends who matter to us, with the extra bonus of a beloved client having a special time with her dear circle of friends.  She loved every moment – and doesn’t remember any of it.

Small wonder she isn’t taking the opportunity to make friends from the new faces in her new neighborhood, why she’s reported as having a serious chip on her shoulder when she is in social situations with them.  She feels like all her old friends were taken from her when she was thrust into an unfamiliar place. 

 

 

Because our dear friend HATES going back to her apartment before 8:30 p.m., we normally have dinner with one or more of her buddies, then nip her off to dessert (we’re now regulars of the recently opened York Diner’s totally delish yums).  Last Friday, she insisted on having dessert with her friends, in spite of warnings that would mean an early return to her apartment.  I wasn’t going to stand in her way, wasn’t going to drag her away.  So, she had her ice cream there, was back in her apartment by 7:45 p.m.  She was NOT happy.  And I learned an important lesson – if she has dessert in the Club Room, take her out for a cup of coffee.

 

Glad we learned that lesson before yesterday.   We had slices of the decadent cake I’d brought & (naturally) dishes of ice cream, so dessert was well taken care of by the time the party broke up around 7:30.  John nipped upstairs to get her jacket.   Off we went for a nice cuppa, with a side of unexpected insight.

 

We headed over to Michael’s, the closest family restaurant serving after 8:00 p.m., which was when I learned that the thing she found so hard to bear was not being able to see her old friends any more.  After her move, she didn’t see her old friends.  She didn’t remember having dinner with them just 90 minutes before.  She didn’t remember five minutes later that she’d had dinner with them 90 minutes before.

I knew that our dear friend was experiencing more profound memory challenges than she had six months ago, but until last night I didn’t fully comprehend how those lack of memories was affecting her life.  How would I feel if I’d lost John & then suddenly lost all of the close friends who made my present life bearable?  I’d feel just like Anne. 

Bravo that she’s able to pull it together enough to be simply unhappily resigned.  It makes sense to me that she’d make no effort to develop friends in her new neighborhood – she’s bereft at losing the old ones; her family’s efforts to maintain cherished longtime relationships aren’t working because she’s not remembering.  

I’m not a psychologist, have no counseling training, but it seems to me like the move has taken away not just a small sense of the familiar but has wiped out any sense of it.  She’s lost not merely her familiar apartment, the route to & from, the elevator she took & floor she lived on, but she’s lost everything that was once familiar.  Which would include longtime friends. 

While I’m sure that having regular contact with them registers within her heart & soul, it’s not registering in her active memory.  I recognize there’s nothing I can do to help change that, but there’s got to be something that might make a teeny bit of difference, if only for a moment.  So, today I’m taking my camera & nabbing pictures – at least one of her good buddies will be at breakfast, hopefully more.  I’ll snap photos with Anne, get them developed, mount them on colored paper & post them on in her apartment  labeled “Breakfast Buddy” or “Dinner Buddy.”  It might not make any difference, but it’s worth a try.

I know that there’s nothing I can do to stop my dear friend’s memory challenges from getting more & more serious.  It is a heartbreak to think that what I offer in the way of support & comfort might be drawing to its close.  As long as I can bring a smile to her face, can feel like something I offer makes a difference in her sense of having emotional ground under her feet, will keep on doing what I do, winging it as I go, learning from one of the best teachers in the universe – my dear friend, mentor & guide to the complexities challenges rewards of growing seriously older.    

 

 

Person-alizing "Personal Care"

This is a thank you note to the Universe, from the bottom of my heart.  Something happened yesterday that embodied blessing serendipity grace, a remarkable moment that comes close to being called a miracle.

A beloved grannie client is moving today from Independent Living to Personal Care.  What had been increasingly a wise mover became imperative after she had a few days of poor health last month & a late night run to the local emergency room for intense back pain.  Neither turned out to be serious, but both served as illustrated the urgency of the move.  When an apartment became available, the choice was made.  

Yesterday morning, I took her to breakfast, as usual.  Toward the end, Lisa & Justin stopped by, much to her delight.  "We have a surprise for you, Mom," they explained.  She wasn't too sure - she might be forgetful, but she's far from stupid.  She's learned that "surprises" aren't always welcome.

It helped that it was my first time seeing the Personal Care wing, too.  There was no faking the genuine amazement I felt when the elevator doors opened onto a beautiful setting, with warmly painted walls, hallways decorated for the autumn season, smiling staff saying, "Hi!"   Sorry to repeat myself, but was genuinely amazed that it actually felt COZY.  Not what I was expecting.

I was entranced, but Anne was definitely still deeply skeptical as we turned down the hall to check out her new apartment.  It was considerably larger than I'd expected, with a bathroom about twice the size of the old one.  And the view - yes, it's of Whole Foods' parking lot, but that's a plus for someone like my dear friend, the ultimate people person.  In the old apartment, there was view of trees, but mostly one had the sense of looking out on other parts of residence buildings.  Her new apartment has view of the Whole Foods lot, which means she'll see people coming & going, but it also looks onto LOTS of trees, to the distant flow of traffic up & down The Fairway, to a vast stretch of sky that promises great cloud watching & sunsets, and - best of all - a clear view of far off railroad tracks, where she will occasionally spot memory-rich trains.  

Forget entranced - I was blown away.

Anne wasn't so sure.  She wanted to know why she was being moved & none too convinced by her children's answers & my obvious enthusiasm for the new digs.

Then, everything shifted.  Yes, almost miraculously.

The four of us were headed to the elevator.  The doors opened & a group of about six older people poured out, led by a vivacious young woman.  She looked at me & I looked her.  "I know you," she stated.  I asked her name.  "It's Tina."  I responded, "Ferrara?"  Close enough.

Tina & I met several years back, probably at the Southampton Giant (same place I met the equally wondrous Denise Kuritz - that sort of magical super market).  We both work with older friends & adore what we do, we live within five minutes of each other.  But we never followed up on that first contact.  Until the Universe picked the just right time.

She was taking her friends to the social room for a coffee klatch & invited us to join in.  We did!  Lisa & Justin went back to packing up the apartment, Anne & I stayed in the increasingly more personal Personal Care unit.  

We couldn't have planned it better.  Anne met her future neighbors, some of whom she already knows.  They got some personal background on her - from Tina! - who gave such a lovely description of Anne's hometown, which she drives through every day to work.  Everything just clicked.  Anne will always think well of an opportunity to have a sip & nibble & connect with people.  

It was a golden moment, a priceless opportunity for my dear friend to truly personalize Personal Care.  Am still in amazement.  And feeling tremendous gratitude to the Universe for making the move so much easier for a special woman.  Thanks, thanks & more thanks!