Art Changes us
I was going to write about another suggestion for coping with AD, and then decided against it. Alzheimer’s is a significant part of my world and my life, but it’s not the only part. I’ve been thinking a lot about my photography and writing (which, admittedly, have helped me cope with Ed’s Alzheimer’s) and the part art plays in our lives, if we’re open to it. I’ve been thinking about the ways in which art can change our world and our way of seeing our surroundings. I’ve been thinking about specific painters and photographers and musicians and the riches they’ve given me—even when their work has disturbed and challenged me. And I’ve been thinking about how grateful I am to have the ability and desire to express myself through photography and writing. I’ve been thinking, too, how I hope that each of us has the good fortune to use whatever creative talents we have to nurture ourselves and the people we love—whether we cook, or garden or dance or weave. And, in indulging our more creative ambitions, we will find new ways to cope with AD—or whatever challenges we’re faced with.
I’m attaching a photograph from my book and photography series I Still Do; I hope you enjoy it.
What a beautiful picture!
It may seem funny, but I find a great deal of what would be considered an up beat atmosphere here because of the way the colors come through, add to that your cat’s peaceful image and it is really seems to be a comfortable place. (We all know cats mostly do not stay where there is tension and stress!)
Thank you for you lovely words about one of my favorite photographs of both Ed and Honey. You’re right—the moment is very serene and it makes me smile every time I look at it.
WP suggested that your site might be similar to my blog “The Artist Within.” Yes, there is a lot of difference in our reason for blogging, but I believe our philosophies are very much the same.
Blessings to you and to Ed.
Thank you for writing, Wayne. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you—I’ve been traveling around the world advocating on behalf of Alzheimer’s awareness and caregivers while also exhibiting my photography and signing books. Life has been busy, and all forms of social media dropped from my screen (literally and figuratively.) I’ve been home for the last month and have been spending wonderful time with Ed and generally catching up on the many things that have been put on the back burner. I’ll begin traveling again very soon, but I will try to find time to write at least one blog catching everyone up on my life and Ed’s.
I am listening to your interview on NPR, and it is delightful. Thank you both for sharing your story, finding life and love in Alzheimer’s and sharing it with us. . . your photographs are beautiful and inspiring. I plan to follow your blog, as it seems my father is in the same stage as your husband. God bless caregivers. . .
http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=120568216&m=120575599
One of the books I have found most helpful about understanding this process from a personal persepective is “Finding Life in the Land of Alzheimer’s: One Daughter’s Hopeful Story” by Lauren Kessler.
God bless, and thank you for sharing your work and words.
I’m sorry your father has Alzheimer’s, Sandra, and I hope you continue to find (and share) books and blogs that are of help. I agree with you about caregivers—they are my heroes. Last month, I gave a keynote address before the National Lifespan Respite Conference in Maryland and had the opportunity to meet caregivers from around the country. I’m touched by every caregiver that I speak with and feel honored that so many are comfortable sharing their stores, and tears, with me. There’s a connection and understanding among caregivers that runs very deep.
Thank you, too, for your kind words about my interview with Terry Gross on NPR—I was thrilled by the opportunity.
I wish you and your father many loving moments together—my conversations with Ed change over time, but my love for him doesn’t. And we’ll always be able to hold hands.
We do have loving moments together, although he no longer knows who am I. He still cares deeply about people. . . he was a physician–but it’s who he is.
My mom is an amazing woman who, like you, believed that she should do it all. In the past five years, she has finally realized she cannot. And it’s okay.
I’m putting together a list of books on my blog that I’ve read that might help people, feel free to share it with others:
http://yakkergirl.wordpress.com
God bless you both in your journey, and know that even though he cannot express it, he does still love you–just as my dad loves my mom.