Joel's Gift of Hope
I steeled myself before every visit to Mom’s Alzheimer’s unit.
Not my son. With his eyes full of hope, he couldn’t wait to see his
grandma.
I parked at the Alzheimer’s center where my mother-in-law lived and
paused, saying the quickest of prayers. I glanced at my 11-year-old
son, Joel, in the backseat. He was totally absorbed in the photo
album he had insisted on bringing along. Joel has autism, and
although I had reminded him that his grandmother couldn’t remember
things the way she used to and might not be as interested in the
photos as he was, I couldn’t be sure that he completely understood
what I was saying. I just hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed by his
grandma’s reaction.
Joel looked up. “See Grandma!” he exclaimed. Clutching the album, he
bounded out of the car and up to the building entrance and marched
in. I trudged along after him. We hadn’t even crossed the lobby when
my senses were assailed by the smell of disinfectants and cafeteria
food.
“Mmm, hamburgers,” Joel said, sniffing the air like we were at a
barbecue.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, trying not to inhale too deeply. We passed the
nurses’ station and headed down the hall toward Mom’s room, Joel in
the lead.
A woman in a wheelchair cut us off. “Can I get a hug, young man?”
she asked, thrusting out her arms. I tensed. Sometimes Joel is
anxious about meeting new people. What if he flinches and lashes
out, I worried. I moved close to Joel, but all at once he fell into
the woman’s embrace, then let her friend sitting beside her hug him
for good measure.
We finally got to my mother-in-law’s room. Her door was open and she
was napping in her beloved antique rocker. She slept a lot these
days. All the time now, it seemed. We tiptoed past her Victorian
dresser, which had a collection of framed family pictures sitting
atop it. I felt sad thinking of how little meaning those photographs
had for her now.
Joel paused a moment then went right up to her. “Grandma Barb,” he
said softly. “Pictures.”
She awoke, and I saw the startled confusion in her eyes. Who is this
little boy? they seemed to ask. Undeterred, Joel climbed into her
lap and opened up his photo album. A hint of a smile appeared on
Mom’s face. He pointed to pictures of his father and me,
emphatically identifying us. He went on to his brothers. Yes, that
was definitely a smile on Mom’s face. Joel reserved his greatest
enthusiasm for his black Lab. “Poco! That’s Poco!” he exclaimed. Now
the smile became laughter.
What Mom said to him didn’t make much sense, but that didn’t bother
Joel. He knew that his grandmother was happy and that was enough for
him.
I looked at my son, battling his own cognitive challenges, and Mom
slowly losing the fight against hers. They snuggled close, taking
delight in the pictures and in each other, connecting on a level
more profound than the everyday one most of us use when we relate to
each other. And suddenly that gave me the peace I’d so badly needed.
I’d been worried about Joel understanding what was happening to his
grandmother when really I was the one who needed to understand.
I smelled the odors of the nursing home. He smelled hamburgers.
I saw strangers invading his space. He welcomed their hugs.
I grieved for the mother-in-law I had known. He loved the grandma
who was here now.
I thanked God for the gift of this moment. Then I pulled up a stool
next to Joel and Mom and basked in the joy of it with them.