Words Connie Dunwoody, Broadmead Care
Just like that, it’s November: the month of bright colours and swirling winds, shorter days, lots more rain – and of remembering.
November 1 is All Saints Day, when we remember loved ones who went before us. November 11 invites us to pay homage and remember with deep gratitude the brave men and women who defended Canada and freedom on our behalf.
It has me musing about remembering, about memories. They’re funny things. For example, I have a friend who participated in an hours-long duathlon with me in 2018 – and she has absolutely no recollection of doing so. Even when I showed her pictures of us running side by side, she said with conviction: “that has to be a different race.” (It wasn’t.)
I have another friend who is absolutely convinced we all joined her on a bike ride to Sooke Potholes some time ago. (We didn’t.)
I have my own memories of events or circumstances, in which, I’m afraid to say, I’m usually painted in the best colours possible (do we all do that?).
We all know someone whose memory of something is different than ours. We can – and do – debate these misaligned rememberings, trying to make sense of our own recollections and trying to understand where the gap is. For some who live with various forms of dementia, memory might not come easily. Dementia can blur the past and present, sometimes warping the facts. But … what if it doesn’t really matter if the memory is correct? What if the point of the memory is, actually, connection? To people, to emotion, to our past: who we were and what we experienced in that time.
Hear me out. My dad lived with Alzheimer’s and Lewy Body dementia. About some things, his memory was sharp, intact, and he relived youth-young adult-parent-professor-preacher moments accurately, as far as I could tell. About other things, he was dreadfully wrong, but he still shared them, over and over. (I didn’t correct him.)
I think it was a process of connection. With us, his children, but perhaps also to someone he was familiar with – his earlier self – solid, comforting ground in his shape-shifting brain. Maybe it was the only way he could stay connected to who he was, and therefore “is.” Connection happened as the story was told and I simply listened, with my whole heart. Not every memory he had was “good,” but every one was valid.
Then, when he couldn’t, it was my turn to carry those stories. I’d ask him to share things about his past with me, and together we’d remember, sparking conversation and joy. My family and I still tell them: “Remember when Dad …” We honour the person he was by speaking his name, recalling his laughter and his influence on our lives. We keep his spirit alive in us.
On Remembrance Day, we do something similar for Canada’s veterans: those who live in Broadmead Care Homes, those in our neighbourhoods, and those in our hearts. We remember them for battles fought, and for who they were: sons and daughters, neighbours and friends, people who loved and were loved. In this way, remembering becomes an act of community. There is connection across generations, geography and time.
This Remembrance Day, as we honour the people who served our country, let us also hold close those in our own lives who struggle with memory. We can be keepers of their stories, their dignity, and their love.
Remembering is not about perfect recall. It is about presence. It is about choosing to see the whole person, even when memory is fragile. Even more, it’s about connection. It is about whispering to them, and to ourselves, “Lest we forget,” and carrying the heart of the memory into the future.
Connie Dunwoody is Communications
Coordinator for Broadmead Care. She believes in the joy of connection.
