Nov 08
Dinner for Two – Romance in aged care by Persephone
The other day I received an email from a friend in Australia. She works as a carer in (her words) an ‘aged facility’. Here are some excerpts from that letter:
“I recently put on a romantic dinner for two at the aged facility where I am currently employed. This was a huge success, given that most of our residents are really ill and in the very late stages of their lives with the average age of 90. It is seldom, well actually never, that they get the chance to have a romantic dinner with their partners. So that gave me the idea to create one at our facility. It included champagne and strawberries, candlelight and roses, invitations, menus, evening dresses and tuxedoes, romantic music, and a sumptuous 4 course meal.”
She asked if I would care to write an article on romance for those in aged care. Immediately, and to my shame, my reaction was to wonder about the levels of dementia, infirmity and all the reasons why it would not work!
Then I received another letter from her: “Whoops …. Just to mention 95% of my residents have some dementia and some are in the very late stages of this condition. But amazingly, at our “dinner for two”, there seemed to be miraculous normality in their behaviours. Those who have difficulty feeding themselves had no problems what so ever. Those who would have gone to bed long before dinner, easily managed to stay up way past normal bedtimes. And conversations with partners that were usually difficult flowed far more easily they had for some time.
Something magical happened. Our hearts were full, such a privilege to be witness to this wonderful evening, and to serve. We will, in the near future, be doing this again.”
This really set me wondering what the qualities of romance are. What was created that evening, producing such amazing results? My dictionary says : romance:“Love, especially romantic love, idealized for its purity or beauty.”
At 76 years I can safely say that, although my memory is not what it used to be, I am still in full command of my senses (or so it seems to me!). However, the ghost of dementia has its place in my consciousness.
My mother did not slide into dementia, but my dear father did. Dementia often brings with it less inhibition. After my mother died, this gentle, mild-mannered man could, at times, be almost cruelly irascible and bad tempered. Something my sister and I had never experienced before. He would forget to turn water and gas taps off. He would frequently lose his way when walking, and finally he was unable to read, write or keep his diary. For a man who had spent his whole life as a journalist, this was devastating. However, not for one moment did he forget my mother and his deep abiding love for her.
In the earlier stages of his decline I remember my parents’ Diamond Wedding party. I was watching them both and at one moment he turned to her, held her hand and said, “You are the most beautiful woman in the room” – and he meant it. They were both in their eighties by then and he had already started to disappear into his own confused world.
I tell you these facts because romance obviously never died for him – even after the death of his beloved.
So, what changed that evening in the care home in Perth, Western Australia?
First of all there was the willingness of a few to change something in the routine of many. Secondly, enough loving care to go through with actions that had not been tried before. Thirdly there was a preparedness to risk that it might not ‘work’.
In order to get the participants ready they had to be touched, dressed in ‘special’ clothes, their hair and perhaps their faces made ready. Carefully chosen music was played – so those that could hear, would hear warm and soothing sounds. Candlelight glowed in the room instead of harsh fluorescent lighting, making everyone’s faces look younger. The usual diet was changed. And, most importantly they were seated in pairs or small groups, rather than eating alone – or at large communal tables. Most of all – the loving care and attention of the staff was heightened and there would have been an air of expectation and excitement.
I go back to that simple explanation of the word romance: “Love, especially romantic love, idealized for its purity or beauty.” I would imagine that purity, in the intention of the staff as well as the innocence of dementia, and beauty in the setting would have done its work of reawakening forgotten moments of romance. The other ingredients of touch, soothing sounds, changes from the norm and loving care obviously worked some magic.
It is so easy, in these days of over-crowding, not enough staff and over-stressed management, to forget these intangibles of any life – demented or otherwise. It took the courage of one person to enthuse others and, together, produce a minor miracle.
Here I write about a care home for the aged, but romance in one form or another is inherent in most of us. In what form do you keep it alive in your life? If you manage to – it can transform not only your own, but also the lives of others that you care about.
November 30th, 2009 at 6:27 am
Wow. It frightens me, the prospect of reduced contact with people as we get older — I’m 64 now — and I can imagine how much the romantic evening must have meant to some of them. I imagine all manner of dinner conversation took place, from mock romantic to disant memories of lovers, to simply a heightened level of decorum and maybe even a lower level, you never know. And it makes me wonder what gives life meaning at that age, and why it should be any different from any other age. As far as I’ve been able to make out, meaning is found in broadening our perspectives on every aspect of existence. How difficult that must be when we can no longer read or hear. Wow, again. To get together in a rarified atmosphere and look sincerely into another’s eyes — I bet some of those old timers are grateful for the chance to have escaped the confines of their tired old habits for an hour or so. (I wouldn’t mind it myself.) I bet more than one of them are still relishing a glimpse into the well of love they glimpsed in someone else’s eyes. What better doorway to expanded consciousness? !!!
November 30th, 2009 at 12:29 pm
The writer wonders what gives life meaning ‘at that age’. My question would be what gives life meaning at any age. My own thoughts on the matter are – maybe there is no meaning at all. At least, no specific one.
We make goals, and if we are artists we become deeply involved in our art. If we are in business we make money. Most of us work or have worked for a living. We become embroiled for ever in our children and our grand-children’s lives – or not. Many of us have religious practices that can include company with like minded others. We eat, sleep, make love, read books, watch movies, walk, travel, garden and love our pets. We visit our friends and enjoy their company and, if lucky, we enjoy our own as well. All of these activities are outside us and can make us feel happy, sad, or indifferent. But would you say they give meaning?
Perhaps they do, but I do not have a definitive answer. If I think about my own life I never ask whether it has meaning. I do know that I love and am grateful for it. It has covered the spectrum of what can happen to any human being, from tragedy to comedy. I am grateful for that, and don’t worry at all whether it has meaning or not!
And yes, for many – there comes a time when all those activities gradually slow down, and in some cases stop altogether, even though the body is still alive. With regards to those old people in their home: my deepest wish is that they will be given more special opportunities to feel loved and cared for. Most importantly, I wish that they are reached out to, with genuine intention to pierce the apparently clouded lives they live within themselves. I am not afraid of growing older and dying. But I am aware that there could come a time when I will need attention and care from someone else.
My hope is that conversations like this will reach far enough to those who do the caring, and help them recognise that none of us need to be sat in rows in front of a TV all day. What we need is a smile, a hug and a bit of attention. In other words – it is what happens in the present moment that counts. Those who have disappeared into themselves have only that present moment. As do we all.
December 2nd, 2009 at 12:05 pm
I think the question for me, concerning the meaning of life, is are we talking higher meaning or just the meaning of life in general? Some of us seperate the two, and search for a life time, waiting for the spiritual meaning to appear like lemon juice on warmed paper: “Why would I exsist if nothing special or spiritual is expected of me? Drifting around the cosmos like a leaf in the wind is a waste of precious time, surely there has to be more?”
Once again we return to the search, the search for that unique spiritual upliftment that will make us special and, while waiting, we can miss the beauty of being just that simple leaf blowing in the wind.
Some believe that the meaning of life can be found by doing the work of God. Somewhere I must have missed the call, I never heard him ask for my help. I would think that, being the creator of this little lot, he would not need it. I believe that not only do we live in a dream, we often delude ourselves into believing we have found the way out. “If I can tell myself and convince myself that I have found the reason for being on this planet, then I will always know where I am.”
This would, of course, in turn separate us from all the others who have no idea why they are here. I remember Osho saying, “It is so easy to be special, it is so much harder to be ordinary”. I know that I have no reason for being here, other than one night my mother and father, during the sexual act, conceived me. Beyond that, all is a mystery. Like the farmer said, “The more I plough this field the less I know about it.”
To say something about the elderly, would be for me to presume too much. I suppose I will just have to wait and hope that my brain outlives me.
December 2nd, 2009 at 4:13 pm
Re. ‘meaning of life’… of course there isn’t any ultimate meaning to be found in any action or event itself. But it seems to me that the unique challenge of being human is to open to a perception of reality that isn’t filtered through the mind. This is our purpose or ‘meaning’, isn’t it? With this ‘in mind’, I’m less fearful of traversing old age, since ‘seeing’ requires only a let-go. (Easier said than done!) The romantic evening struck me as one of those orchestrated opportunities for a let go.
December 2nd, 2009 at 4:25 pm
A very cogent answer. And yes, that evening was orchestrated – is that a problem? In that moment the evening apparently generated a let go in staff, as well as participants. Trouble is, it seems you are still suggesting that there is something you can ‘do’! ie: ‘opening to a perception of reality that isn’t filtered through the mind’. To me, ‘let-go’ means just what it says. No purpose, no meaning no nothing, only whatever moment you happen to find yourself in. And yes, easier said than done. The reason? I don’t think you can ‘do’ letting go! Having said that I am glad you have found your own way to a less fearful outlook.