Reflections of the Past

In just a few weeks I'll be 30. For some of you, 30 was a long time ago. For others, it's far off in the distance.

The funny thing about turning 30 is that I don't "feel" 30. Hell, when I'm clean-shaven my baby-face is reminiscent of Milo Ventimiglia's "young Jack" on the hit show, "This is Us." Sure, my right shoulder pops in the morning—too many years on the mound—and my ankle aches when it's cold—football injury—but, I still don't think of myself as 30.

In fact, there are some days when 18 feels like yesterday. But when I see my almost nine year old daughter or 15 year old step-daughter (my wife is a few years older), I'm quickly reminded that I'm no longer a kid.

But none of those things change the way I feel INSIDE. In fact, getting older has forced me to reflect on my childhood when it was acceptable for me to dress up like a knight, talk like a pirate, or pretend to wander through Middle Earth. Getting older makes those childhood moments of adventure even more precious.

Why? Well, because I have responsibilities now, and I can't venture into Narnia whenever I want. I'm an adult. That doesn't mean that being an adult sucks. Sure, some of it does (like paying rent). But, there are many great things about growing up. Work is hard, yes, and there are many aspects about my job that I hate (like wearing a tie), but there I find fulfillment in helping others.

And I LOVE being a dad. That's something that you can't understand unless you grow up. But just because I'm turning 30 doesn't mean that I've forgotten what it's like to be 10.

Which brings me to the point of all this. For the last 10 years I've had the privilege of caring for the elderly in long term care communities. I'll spare you the resume, but I started in long-term care as a certified nurse assistant while pursuing my bachelor's degree in Business Administration: Healthcare Management. After that, I received my license as a nursing home administrator, and I have been working as an executive director of assisted living and memory care communities for almost five years now.

The hardest thing about working in long-term care is caring for people living with dementia (if you are wondering why I use the phrase "people living with dementia" then you should check out Teepa Snow. I had the opportunity to go through a training of hers and become a PAC—positive approach to care-certified trainer to teach others how to care for people living with dementia).

On the outside, there is a an elderly person (let's assume 90 years old since this is the average age of the residents I have cared for in Florida), whose body is quickly deteriorating. And if that person has dementia, then their brain—literally, the organ itself—is most likely dying even faster than their body.

But, there spirit remains. Their soul still craves adventure. Who they truly are on the inside—father, mother, husband, wife, son, daughter, brother, sister, doctor, lawyer, teacher, etc.—struggles everyday to be heard. Their inner self fights daily to be seen.

Unfortunately for most, the gibberish they speak is all that is heard, and the drool coming from their wrinkled mouth is all that is seen. But if I, as someone who is turning 30, still remembers what it is like to be 10, then why would this 90 year old not remember what it is like to be 16, 40, or even 65?

If you know someone living with dementia, then I can sympathize with you. I'm also emphatic because both of my grandmothers suffered with the disease, and I have developed a strong bond for those I have had the opportunity to care for who also live with dementia. It is a brutal disease, and in my opinion, one of the worst things that can happen to us as humans.

But before you lose all hope, let me try to help. Underneath the old age, buried deep within is, as Teepa Snow describes, a pearl. A beautiful gem of a person. Someone whose eyes have witnessed miracles. Someone whose hands have worked tirelessly to make a better life for their family. Someone whose heart still longs for adventure.

Just as I was once a child, so were they. And just as I reminisce on my short time before I enter my 30s they were once reflecting on how quickly 40 years went by. It's easy to focus on the disease, and forget the person, but I encourage you to do one thing:

REMEMBER THEM AS THEY WERE.

And never forget.

"Time only changes the outside of things. It snarls the trees and scars the rock but inside the heart is the same."