In 1999, I was living in an apartment complex in Mountain View, California. My neighbors across the hall were a single father with three little girls. I'd estimate the ages at 4, 8, and 10. The two older girls would argue violently, shouting vicious things at each other.
"I HATE you!! I hope you DIE!"
"I never want to see you AGAIN!"
"I wish you had never been BORN!"
I was shocked! I wanted to go over there and knock on their door and explain, "It feels like you hate your sister when you're angry with her, but that's just the anger talking. You really love your sister!"
My words--though true--would have fallen on deaf ears. I know this because my sister and I used the same language when we fought as children! And the adults present had tried the exact same worthless corrective statements on us! "You don't hate your sister! You love your sister!" HAH! In that moment of pure rage, actually, we
did hate each other, and you would not have talked us out of it! But that didn't mean we were budding psychopaths! That meant we were
children! That vicious language--so terrible on adult ears--is only a moment of anger to a child. Children grow out of that amount of rage as they mature and get a grip on their emotions. In their tiny worlds, only that horrible language will do justice to the outsize amount of rage they feel. But as adults, we have a better sense of proportion, and know that sometimes our loved ones can anger us, and that's okay! We can be vulnerable and say, "I'm angry, you hurt me" instead of shouting terrible words of blind rage.
I was reminded of this today. Starbuck-A-Roo and I were visiting her Friends at the
Denali Center. We generally make a clockwise circuit around the single-story building, stopping at any room whose doors and curtain are open, indicating that visitors are welcome. Some have an icon of a dog on the door, indicating that they like dogs. But we also have our established Friends, whom we deliberately seek out to visit. One, we have never seen in his room. He sits in an easy chair in one of the common area lounges, and Roo goes up to his chair and sits in front of him while he pets her. "You are a beauty!" he tells her. "Such a beauty you are! Such a nice dog!"
Sunday, as we approached his chair, he scowled. "Everyone is terrible! People are terrible! Do you know what they do to me? All of you people! So horrible!"
I knelt down and made eye contact. "Some people are terrible, but dogs are never terrible. They love us no matter what. Would you like to pet Starbuck?"
He scowled. "Why don't you put her out on a busy street? Let her get hit by a car!"
I was a bit startled, but recalled somewhere in the recesses of my mind that people suffering from dementia often become
inexplicably mean at times. While their attacks are often
cruelly well-aimed, they reflect more frustration at their own conditions than their feelings for or about the target.
I looked at him gently, but directly. "Well, if you aren't in the mood for a visit, we'll be going now. But know that Starbuck loves you no matter what, and there are some people you can't trust, but you can always trust dogs, and they'll always love you the same, even when you are grumpy." I paused, then stood up. "We'll see you next time. I hope you're feeling better then!" then walked away.
He then called out, and I turned around to face him. "Be safe out there!" he said. And I smiled and said, "Yes, we will be."
My former (and in my heart current, since I am in denial about his retirement) Pastor, Father S., had watched both of his parents decline with dementia, and offered advice. "Think 2 year old. It's just the parts of the brain undeveloping, not the person. For that, learn to seek and watch spirit... Trust the puppies."
Ah! In all of my reading I had not encountered that brilliant emotional device! I know how cruel kids can be without meaning to be, just because their emotions are so big and so raw, and they are not in control of them. I suppose in dementia patients, it is a very similar manifestation, although in adults, it is even more hurtful, because the cruelty of their comments has the added capacity and specificity of adult understanding and insight. Especially toward caregivers, who are often very close to the patient--as spouses, children, other close family members. They know how to twist that knife, but without the controls of a healthy person to rein it in.
Maybe a bigger lesson can be learned from this; some people's cruelty isn't meant as such. It's a reaction to their own suffering, and they don't need to be dementia patients to exhibit this same response. Maybe a bit more compassion is in order for all people who seem thoughtlessly cruel. It's precisely that--thoughtless.
