One morning two years ago, I found Dale staring at a plaque he had received in appreciation for his work as a mental health chaplain. He had already lost access to much of his long-term memory and was losing his ability to read. I had no idea what meaning the inscription might still have for him.
He finally said, “That says ‘Dale Sessions.’ It’s supposed to be me. But I’m not. I’m supposed to be me, but I’m not.”
It was common to hear statements like this from him during that time. Once when baffled by something I said, he replied, “Well, I know you are a human being, but I am not a human being. I’m just nothing.” Heartbreaking to hear, even when his laughter followed.
Like encroaching darkness, the disease was moving across Dale’s brain, reducing his abilities to remember, speak, understand language, and think clearly. He could feel the losses.
During the months he was making statements about being “nothing,” though, he was living otherwise: helping serve communion at the memory care unit; proclaiming “Hallelujah!” throughout the day; lifting spirits in the community dining room with each entrance.
And now, after many more changes, Dale still IS: happily greeting neighbors and enthusiastically waving at cars that pass. It is Dale who laughs with surprise when I come back into the room and says, “I know you!” or “Thank you!” or “I love you!” He is still connected to others and to life. Changed and changing. But still Dale.
There is continuity amid the changes of this disease: a precious thread of identity that persists despite change and loss. Like the sky’s colors that change as the earth rotates away from the sun—and yet are still “sunset” and still beautiful—Dale still IS—and is himself—amid the changes of his disease.
And as he forgets more and more, we remember him. We hold the versions of himself that he may forget, and love the one who is beside us.
As our caregiver often says, “He is still in there. And he matters.”
Yes. And that’s what matters.
But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
my Lord has forgotten me.”
Can a woman forget her nursing child,
or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are continually before me.