Til deg menneske uten uttrykk

You sit there in your chair.
Not a word is spoken, you don't answer or give respons to my questions..
Where are you now beautiful woman?
What goes on in your world? How's the landscape of your thoughts?
Are people nice there?
Do you hear the tones of a happy song or is it a sad song playing on the inside?

How old do you feel now beautiful woman? Are you a little child in your mind?
A child who's world is dependent on your parents or grandparents? Or are you a teenager with feelings that goes high and low, up and down?

Do you ever visit the world outside beautiful woman? Do you know what's going on out here? Are you afraid? Are you happy in your world? I hope you are...

I look at you. Your old face painted with wrinkles. Between them the history of your life is written.. Your soft hands tell me that you have been a loving mother, but you've worked hard. I can see that on your hands... You've lived a long life beautiful woman, hopefully a happy one. And I hope you are happy in your world.. I wish you would come out of your shell and visit us sometimes.

You can't express who you are and who you've been, but I will try my best to respect you for who you've been, and respect your integrity! I know that you are there on the inside somewhere....

I can't get through to you through words, but can you feel my touch? When I put my arm around you as I follow you to bed, can you feel that you're loved? When you seem afraid and I take your hand, can you feel that you are not alone. Do I manage to make it a bit less frightening?

Can you feel it as I let my hand touch your cheek before you fall asleep?
Do you know that we love you beautiful woman? Do you know that we care? I hope we manage to get through to you, not by nice words, but by a gentle touch, by just being there....

I hope you're happy in your world..

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Treffer mange mennesker med alzheimer i jobben min, og det slår meg at disse er virkelig noen av Gud's minste. De som ingen andre orker å ha så mye med å gjøre. De som sliter andre ut, fordi livet er blitt litt slitent i kantene. De som ikke lengre vet helt opp/ned på seg selv. Å som disse trenger å bli elsket, sett og verdsatt. Husket for dem de var, elsket for den de er..

Har mange ganger tenkt på at det på en måte er en litt snodig avslutning på livet. Hadde jeg bestemt skulle det nok ikke vært slik at menneskers identitet blir spist opp av demens i livets siste fase. Men nå er det ikke jeg som bestemmer, men jeg kan nå hvertfall være med på å gjøre noe for disse - Jesu' minste.