Best Friends - Volunteering

     So here we are. I have now officially volunteered at Best Friends Day Center twice, and I am beginning to recognize faces. I cannot bring up specific names here, but the point is that these people are becoming real and memorable to me and my volunteering peers. This has largely come about through an agenda of activities we all participate in each visit. The past two instances that I have arrived with my classmates, we have been greeted by the cheerful face of a staff member, always eager to get us working with our "Best Friends." 

Best friends.

Finding a "best friend" means sitting next to one of the people there and simply being their friend that day. But first, we must quickly rifle through the closet in the main room, searching for our name tags. The staff at Best Friends always make sure to poke fun at those who write their names small, because the people there want everything big, right where they can see it.
     This "upfrontness" has seemed to be a running theme throughout our time volunteering so far. If the people really want something (such as someone's name), you can bet they are going to ask for it. One example is a lady who, last week, liked to find ways to interject "I want ice cream!" into each song we sang. The context for this is that every day, after song-singing and/or trivia, ice cream is handed out to everyone. This particular lady often has a hard time being apart from her family, and is prone to either become very sad, or demand for something that will make her feel better. And that is how lines like, "The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home," became, "The sun shines bright on my - ice cream!"

A variety of classics are sung each week at Best Friends, such as
My Old Kentucky Home.

While this woman's knack for derailing songs did get a little old after a while, we had to admire her conviction. And that is what is so humbling about working with these people: they may be dealing with one of the hardest things possible in dementia, but they stick to their guns. Each person has their own take on life, and they put it out there. These people are so very human, even through the trials they face every day, and it is beautiful to see. Being able to learn about how a man used to be a doctor in Indiana, and how his daughter went to the University of Kentucky, is fascinating. Those are the kinds of things these people still remember. Many of these people will never forget certain parts of their lives because those parts were so very important to them. Precious is the opportunity to peer, as if through a window, into the intricate, wonderful lives of people like the former doctor I met. And all this through a few jilted conversations.

People with dementia offer a window into wonderful lives,
if one is willing to be there when the window opens.

I fear my classmates and I will never have enough time to delve into the libraries of these people's lives, and I wish we could. There is a wealth of life, knowledge, and love intertwined between all these people, a wealth I feel honored to witness each week. Even if that comes in the form of ice cream. Especially then.