A person, is a person, is a person

She was one of the nuns, I took memory snapshots of her each time I visited. There was little change during my three monthly visits. Until she moved to special care. She didn’t know why she had moved. The next visit she had settled. She didn’t remember that there had been anything else. Each time I changed my approach. My chats turned to short sentences of welcome. The less she was aware the closer I came. The softer my voice, the lowering of my position to meet her face. Sitting at her meal to offer help. When someone becomes more distance because of dementia the closer you get. You think less and care more.