I remember once, when Patrick was in advanced stages of Alzheimer’s, I sat him down at the table and set before him a snack plate with apple slices on it. I was busy in the kitchen, and when I returned I smiled. He had carefully placed each slice into a type of pyramid with one slice balancing on top. He looked up at me with a satisfied look, obviously proud of his artistic creation. He had lost the ability or need to recognize it as food. Instead, he used the apple slices to express something still unaffected by this disease—an inner need to create and shape. I remember thinking that despite the fact that Pat no longer spoke in complete sentences, he had, in fact, expressed himself.
Art can speak.
Today I traveled to the Clay Art Center in Port Chester, New York to participate in an event entitled “Molding Memories”. Organized by Michele Muir, Director of Communications & Public Policy for the Hudson Valley/Rockland/Westchester, NY Chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association, this workshop is part of a series designed by her to touch the lives of both caregivers and their loved ones with Alzheimer’s. (I shall speak more about this series in future blogs).
No pressure. No prerequisite of talent. Just a pleasant workshop area, complete with tables, tools and slabs of clay for participants to work on. Those with Alzheimer’s (and their caregivers) could approach the table knowing that talent was not the aim here. It was simply an invitation to create and relax while discovering the soothing effects of working with clay.
I smiled as I worked the clay. Like those around me, I began with little idea of what I was “creating”. But as time passed I became a part of others who, like myself, were adding shapes and lines to the clay slab that collectively would then be glazed as a wall plaque. Round swirls, goofy figures, flowers—all were shaped and molded from the cool clay we held in our hands. But the interesting thing was that as our creating grew, so did our small talk. Those struggling to form sentences found perfect acceptance in our table’s conversation—a mixture of simple phrases, humorous thoughts, song remnants, and smiles. And slowly, as our clay slab began to take shape, I realized more than ever that creation—whether with apples or clay—is a free, joyful expression of the moment.
And Alzheimer’s is all about experiencing the joy of the moment.
Hugs,
Marilynn Visit me on my website! www.releasedtotheangels.com
