I posted this essay on my personal Facebook page a couple of weeks ago. So many people said it made a difference for them that I decided to go ahead and share it here. The theme of the month for Nathan Herrington Coaching is Listening, so obviously this goes right along with that.

Whether or not you have aging parents, I hope you find something meaningful in this.

Original Post

“I want you kids to plan a family vacation for our 50th Wedding anniversary, instead of a party” my dad said to my siblings and me. This was 2 years ago, long before we realized that my mother’s Alzheimer’s would have progressed too far for her to be able to travel. Nowadays, most things that happen outside her regular routine, such as travel, are so disorienting for her, it’s not worth the time that it takes her to recover. Plus, other health issues make planning anything at all a challenge. About 6 months prior to the actual anniversary, we decided instead that an intimate gathering of only our family and closest friends would be the best way to honor their golden anniversary and do so in a way that was enjoyable for everyone, including Mom.

In the realm of parents and families, I am clear that I was dealt a very good hand. A very, very good hand. That being said, I’ve still had to confront the cold, hard facts, that even a Royal Flush doesn’t save you from the anguish of watching your parents get older, especially one with Alzheimer’s. Like so many things in life, you hear about the challenges of this stage of life, but until you have to cross the bridge yourself, it exists only as a concept. I could try to explain how hard it is to see them struggle with getting up and down out of their chair, lose their hearing, and navigate the health care system with an increased number of doctor’s visits for things like cardiac-stress tests and hearing aids. However, until you get there, it just doesn’t feel real.

That being said, there are also many gifts wrapped up inside this otherwise overcast experience. About a year ago, sitting in the parking lot of Smith’s Dry Cleaners, on the phone with my youngest sister, I experienced a cathartic moment of profound acceptance. Until then, I’d been resisting and internally negotiating the reality of my Mom’s diagnosis. For the first time, I fully acknowledged and fully felt the fact that the mom I had known and loved my whole life was gone. After sobbing for a minute or two, I immediately saw the opportunity right there in front of me. It was like a much-needed sun-ray, emerging as the storm clouds cleared away. It was the opportunity to love the mom I had now.

In some ways, loving a person with Alzheimer’s, though not easy, can be strangely simple. I won’t claim to be an expert, but I’ve learned that it largely requires presence. Since they don’t remember the past and also can’t retain much about the future, what’s happening right now is all that really matters. When I’m with my mom, I’ve made it my job to simply be with her and fully listen. Presence. Whether what she is saying is true or false is immaterial. In the same way that you allow a small child to tell you fantastical, make-believe stories, we both find the most joy and connection if I just “go with it”. I don’t mean this in a resigned or condescending way. Instead it’s the recognition that the content of our conversation is much less important than the context of love.

I spent a lot of time building my career in my 20s and 30s, sometimes at the expense of other things, such as time with my family. Granted, I’ve mostly shown up for the big stuff. But every now and then, I somehow catch wind of some small moment of life that I missed out on over the years. While not soul-crushing, these mini-realizations pepper my experience with the thought that “I’ve been living my life the wrong way. Focusing on the wrong things.” So instead of dwelling in that murky wistfulness, I’ve been using my 40s to now shift my priorities as much as possible. The main theme has been: Show up. Then listen…listen my ass off.

I’ve long noticed we tend to listen to people differently when they’ve gone through some tragedy – a cancer diagnosis or losing a loved one. We become more willing to stop what we are doing and really make sure that the other person is okay, that they feel heard and that their needs are met. These types of experiences that force us to confront our own mortality can also remind us that, when everything else is stripped away, all that really matters is what’s happening right now. And that the gift of our presence can create a unique kind of miracle for ourselves and the people around us. I thought I had experienced that before. But when it feels like the time that you have left with the people you love most is slipping through your fingers like tiny grains of sand, “listening” takes on a whole new meaning.

Thanks, Mom, for yet another life lesson.