Have you tried to hold a conversation with a loved one who has memory deficits? If not, let me prepare you. It’s painful. My Dad suffers dementia. When he repeats himself and doesn’t realize it, I feel loss. When he calls me to request the steps to retrieve his voicemail, I hurt because he’s known how to use his cellphone for years. When he calls for the phone number of his facility so he can call the nurse’s station for help, I feel sad because his call button is clipped to his T-shirt – which he can’t remember. His dementia is teaching me to live in the present.

     We build relationships by making memories with loved ones. We share our lives with them taking for granted that we can build on prior conversations. But that’s not true when someone can’t remember what he said 60 minutes ago. Dad’s dementia requires a change in how I relate to him. Dad and I focus on the present. We talk about whatever comes to his mind because that is what he is able to process.

     Staying in the present is hard for me. “Take it one day at a time,” they say, or “Enjoy today because you don’t know you have tomorrow.” I hear these platitudes and know they are important, but I ignore them. I especially like, “Wherever you are, be all there,” because it reminds me to be emotionally present when I’m interacting with others.

     How well are we doing as a culture at “being all there?” I confess that I allow the IPhone “ding,” indicating I have email, to interrupt my time with others. I often text a quick message while a dialogue is going on. Or I let a TV program distract me while I am having a conversation. If I wanted to be “all there,” I would silence my devices to give my family and friends my undivided attention.

     When I visit Dad, I intentionally silence my phone. He deserves my undivided attention as much as anyone. I have no expectations that he will remember our conversations. Instead, he will remember the quality of our time together. Did he feel loved? Dad knows how he feels when I am with him, even if a day should come when he can’t articulate it.

     I am sad that it takes Dad’s dementia to wake me up to the importance of living in the present in all of my relationships. I need to “be all there” when I am with others – regardless of their stage in life. I don’t want to be careless with the precious time I have with anyone. No one is guaranteed tomorrow, but we do have this present moment. That’s where we need to live. Let’s make it count. Our loved ones deserve this.

     What can you do to eliminate distractions and be present to your loved ones?

Blessings,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Lee Ann