Smiles, then laughter, a certainty. Reflecting, reminiscing – alone or with loved ones – and we discover the richness that other lives add to our own, and how much who we are is shaped by such experiences.
Then one day, not death, but dementia knocks.A light starts to flicker, then does so between long pauses, then goes out. And it is traumatic enough when a parent (or older relative) is afflicted. From The Guardian, which has presented a commendable series, a son reflects on his father, Buona notte Papa: the long goodbye to a parent with dementia
‘Somehow along the way, he and Mum (mostly Mum) raised four healthy boys in a remote country town.
‘But now, three years from that first diagnosis, all this is lost to him.
‘He struggles to remember our names. Once loquacious, he is reduced to a muddle between English and Italian. He has no road sense, is usually unaware of his surroundings, and requires constant supervision.’
Some of Mark Brandi’s recounting is very familiar, and does strike that emotional chord with some resonance.
And the thing about it. For the younger set, that trauma turns to nagging anxiety when the disease strikes one of the previously ‘immortal’ group of ‘wastrels’, and that one is even younger.
Which is why, all along the way, so many of us continue that quaint habit of engaging, of socialising, of staying in touch. At a distance, or even closer, no better advice than this classic bit. If as they say, ‘Vita brevis est’, then ‘amor aeternus est’?