“You don’t have to do that,” Delaney says. She’s just gotten back to the table and is dabbing at her mom’s blouse.
“Do what?”
“Feed my mom. It’s my responsibility.” I freeze.
“Oh. Does that mean you don’t want me to feed her?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to overstep…”
“No, I’m sorry. You’re not. This is new for me, that’s all. You can keep feeding her.” I search her face to make sure I see no hint that she’s really not okay with it, and finding none, I give Hattie another bite.
“Well, it’s a good thing, right, Hattie? Clearly, I’m a less messy feeder than our girl over there.”
When the ice cream is gone, Delaney wipes Hattie’s face, and I walk over to the sink and wash my hands. I’m pretty sticky, so maybe I’m not as neat as I thought.
I return to our table, and a woman with her back to me is sitting in my seat. I divert toward another seat as Delaney looks up and smiles.
“Here he is now. Lydia, I’d like you to meet?—”
“Harrison?
“Mom?”
Once I’m past the initial shock of seeing my mom here, I glance at Delaney, whose eyes are darting back and forth between my mom and me. I don’t know why I didn’t consider this. My mom volunteers here regularly. This facility is special to us because the staff here cared for my grandmother. Mom, Hayden, and I even sit on the board.
“You two know each other?” Delaney asks. “You’re his…”
“Yep, sweetheart. So, you’re the one I need to thank for my son looking happier than I’ve seen him in a very long time.”
I sit down.
“You okay, Bets?”
“Uh… I think so?” She furrows her brow.
Over the next few minutes, we all three get past our initial surprise, and Mom asks Delaney if she’s okay with her taking Hattie out to the gardens.
“Oh, and maybe you can give Harrison a quick tour of the place.”
I think about reminding her I’m well acquainted with the unit and the new one under construction. Heck, I ran the capital campaign for the new project. Mom must have a reason for wanting Delaney to show me around.
Delaney takes me on a tour of the unit, and when we reach a spot where we can see the new building going up, she tells me all about it. She’s so well-versed that I don’t interrupt her. She’s quite the tour guide.
“I really hope there’s enough space for them to grow the activities program.” Delaney’s face tells me she’s not sure if she’s wishing for too much.
Huh? I recall no conversation or advocacy for any special consideration regarding the activities program in the building’s planning.
“Tell me more about that, please.”
She lights up. “Well, as you know from your grandmother’s time here, dementia is a thief, right? It steals so much from patients and families, and there’s more that we can do about it than just medications. There’s some promising science showing that certain types of activities can have a positive impact on dementia care. We’re talking about things like improving mood, helping decrease anxiety and depression, and providing social engagement, to name a few.”
God, she’s so passionate about it. I’ve not seen her like this about anything else before. Certainly not her work with us—though she does a great job—or even when she’s talked about having a career in Human Resources one day.
“Unfortunately, space and money constraints limit facilities’ ability to invest in comprehensive activities programs with defined goals, backed by science, and aimed at improving care. It’s sad for any patient when activities aren’t robust, but especially for patients who need residential care but are earlier in their disease process, where some of these activities could have the most impact.”
We eventually make our way to the outside gardens, where my mom is spending time with Hattie. Delaney and I watch from inside the building. She continues to educate me about how important focused activities are as part of a comprehensive memory care program.
When Delaney steps outside with our moms for a few minutes, I excuse myself to use the restroom. Before I do that, though, I call Ruthie.
Ruthie answers her phone, and probably only to screw with me, she says, “Girls, I’ll be right back—it’s my boy-toy on the phone.” Seconds later, “To what do I owe this pleasure, suit stud?”
