I’m thinking of my neighbors, G. & L., in these wee hours.
G. was born in England, a retired professor of mathematics. Born in Russia, L. is in the throes of middle-stage Alzheimer’s Disease. It seems tragically ironic that L. was once a brilliant neurophysicist. I have known her as an artisanal jewelry-maker and grower of the most gorgeous irises in the neighborhood.
Some months ago, I was leaving our local grocery store when someone told me L. had disappeared off the street and G. couldn’t find her anywhere. After a search on foot and by car, L. was found at the home of a neighbor none of us had ever met. The neighbor said, “(L.) just walked in the door, sat down in my kitchen, and started talking to me as if she knew me.” The neighbor said she had never met L., didn’t recognize her, and that she couldn’t understand anything L. had been saying to her.
Since Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia attack our latest memories first, I suppose, L. has lost her ability to speak English. She still seems to understand some English words, names and so forth, but she speaks only Russian. She is friendly, and when she speaks to me, I can only nod and smile, hoping she is not asking me anything to which the correct answer is a resounding “No.” G. told me he doesn’t speak Russian beyond a few phrases. I can only imagine how much more difficult this makes his life now.
L. came to our door one day, frantic, and only able to say G.’s name and point next door. We ran over to find that he had fallen down some steps and hit his head on a concrete wall. He was basically fine, more embarrassed that he couldn’t up on his own than anything else. EMTs were called, and we drove L. to the emergency room. My job was to keep L. company while G. was receiving care, but a nurse made me leave when she found out I was not family. Ten minutes later, the same nurse came to get me because L. had wandered off. She didn’t get far, and I was allowed to sit with her the rest of the night.
My wife understands all too well what G. is going through. She lost her father to dementia a few years ago. She endured the final months of his passing with a grace I certainly would not have been able to muster. A few weeks ago, I made a pot of lentils. Unbeknownst to me, my wife took some over to G. and L. I only found out a week later when G. called to return our Tupperware. He asked me to thank her for them, and for moving their garbage and recycling bins to the street, something else my wife failed to mention to me.
I know these seem like small things. But even the smallest gesture of kindness – as simple as smiling at a stranger - can bring a little sunshine into the life of someone who is struggling. I read once that true generosity is giving without expectation of anything in return, including credit for having given. That’s my wife for you. I am fortunate.
Last week G. called me over to see him. A package had just arrived. He had ordered for my wife and me a set of spatulas that are cupped and marked with common units of volume measurement for the kitchen. What goes around, comes around.