Sacred Conversations

I walked with my father to the memory care section where he lives, as I was leaving to catch my plane to Atlanta.   I pushed the green button to let him inside. He walked through the door turned to me and said, “Jan, tell me the code”. I looked at him, paused momentarily and said, “Dad I can’t do that.”  He said okay and the door shut between us.  The code he referred to is the one needed to get out of the unit. The code to freedom.

I turned to walk away with tears in my eyes as I realized all I wanted to do was give him the code.  Instead, I chose integrity by not doing it and thinking of his safety over my desire for his freedom.  It was a choice.  My very mobile, involved, civic minded father is in a memory care unit where we never thought he would be.

The goodness of it all is he is thriving there.  He doesn’t always remember he is locked in.  There are many activities daily in which he can participate. He pushes others in their wheelchairs to vespers although he must follow someone who can lead the way.   He can still use his Jitterbug phone but probably not for long. Early evening, he sometimes goes to the tea and hand massage session which he enjoys. Most likely because he is touched as his hands are massaged by the staff who work there.  We are grateful.

I’ll be brief when I refer to sacred conversations. I mean the conversations we will remember because they are visceral.  Ones we never had growing up.  Conversations that take place because the barriers to intimacy we put up in our lives seem to breakdown once dementia sets in.

My belief is we come into the world as babies just entering from the other side, the spirit side.   We sometimes recall this spirit world. For example, young children say things, have memories or imaginary friends because they recently came from the place of spirit. I also believe as we wind down our lives, we sense the spirit world. The veil between this world and that one is thin. I have said this before regarding my experiences working with people in hospice.

I will share a story.  My sister was visiting our Dad.  He told her that he sees our mother who died in 2013.  My mother apparently frequently comes to him and he talks to her. Then someone will come in his room and lickity split she quickly disappears. Beth and I discuss this often as we would be the first people to say maybe he does see her. Who are we to know?   Other people would say it’s an illusion of a demented mind. Regardless, Beth asked him what she looks like, how old is she?  He said she doesn’t look like she did when she died.  He sees her as if she is on a projection screen.

On a recent visit I took him to Panera for a lunch of soup and rolls. Our conversation went like this, “Jan, I want to ask you something. I see your mother a lot and I don’t know if its real or not, can you tell me?” I said Dad, mom died in February of 2013.  For a moment he looked as if he might cry as the information registered. He squinted and said, “so why am I seeing her?”

I said Dad you came into this life as a baby. You will leave this life as an elderly man. At both ends the veil is thin to the spirit world. You very well could be seeing mom. If you see her, she is real to you. If you find comfort by seeing her it’s all that matters. Beth and I both think you really could be seeing her and aren’t you the lucky one for it.   We would like to see her as well.  I too asked how old she was as stories are told that when we see dead people they are in their prime, 30-40s.  He told me she was younger than when she died.  I am taking that to mean when she was healthy before the Alzheimer’s.  That’s what I choose to believe.

We had a great visit as we went on a drive through the town so he could remember.  We ran errands where he could get in and out of the car.  We spent about 45 minutes in Staples as he looked at all the products browsing as he likes to do looking for sales.  We went to the dry cleaner where they waived their seven-day alternations rule as they sewed a button on for him.  I know there is goodness in the world when salesclerks engaged with him answering his questions that made very little sense. Understanding he is elderly and excited to talk to people.  They were patient and kind. There are more of these people than we think.

Before I left he said, “Come back any time” because we had so much fun. He got out for a bit to experience the feeling of freedom and he liked it. I know he misses his daughters.  Come back and I love you are not things he would typically say. He normally suppresses his emotion.  This is the nice part about seeing him now, the lowering of the barriers.

These are the sacred conversations I was fortunate to have.  To talk about spiritual things to watch the barriers fall. The words sacred conversations came to me as I drove to the airport.   I decided I want to have these conversations now, with people I love so nothing in this life that is important goes unsaid. 

I am constantly learning, the hard way it seems, but I am learning none the less.

Have them.  The sacred conversations.  Engage with people on a meaningful level and don’t be shy about being who you are. Have integrity, do the right thing and help other people from your own source of experience.

This is the gift given to me this Christmas season.  The sacred conversations I had with my father.

"Good conversation has an edge: it opens your eyes to something, quickens your ears. And good conversation reverberates, it keeps on talking in your mind later in the day; the next day you find yourself still talking with what was said."
— James Hillman in Stirrings of Culture: Essays from the Dallas Institute

Until next time,

Sat Nam.

Jan