When I joyfully relate to a person who has dementia, I can see in our relationship a place where we can play. Our mutual play lets us know we matter to each other, reduces stress, and improves health. Especially as we age, play with others protects our health. When we matter to others we feel connected and less vulnerable. Mattering to others reduces what neurobiologists call “allostatic load,” which is a measure of one’s level of stress. Higher allostatic load means greater risk of negative impacts from chronic disease. Thus, play is protective for caregiver and care recipient, reducing the stress of both.
In the act of play, I recognize this person in the twilight of their life, like my grandfather, as someone who can offer to me the opportunity to find enjoyment that has no other aim but the pleasure in the moment itself. Part of being a responsible caregiver is to see the opportunity for play as something intrinsic to human relationships. Play is a means to be curious about others in a space that is not directed at some specific aim such as making money or preparing a meal or securing lodging, which takes us out of the present moment. Play is a way to practice mindfulness as an expression of acceptance, curiosity, and joy in any moment shared with oneself and others. And play can take a variety of forms.
Grandpa Dickey used to like play in words, and he would often say silly things that he meant as jokes that were plays on words. He would often jokingly point out the faux pas or the bias of himself and others using coded language with words meant to be funny. My job as a caregiver taking care of him at the end of life was to treat this play in language as something that was valuable for both of us. Even as he was increasingly forgetting words and contexts, I saw these moments as opportunities when I paid sufficiently close attention to notice them for what they were: invitations to play. Being with Grandpa in this way lightened the mood and built bonds between us, as I would remember how he used this joking tone in the past to befriend me and others even in moments of heightened stress.
Grandpa was friendly with himself and accepted himself as he was. As I have grown older, I have begun to realize how hard it is to do this as consistently as he did in a world that teaches us to evaluate ourselves in compassion to others and focus our attention on what we might lack. Grandpa’s habit of self-acceptance communicated a sense of generosity to others and a humility, which were moral self-expressions of his character as a responsible person who loved himself and others. He often made fun of me when I got overly serious or mad, but he did so in a way that invited me to joke with myself and try on a lighter version of myself.
We have countless stories that circulate in the family about boating mishaps. Damage to the Grandpa’s boat while towing it to a lake, or damage to his boat while getting it out of the water were the fodder for stories that the family circulated and used to prompt a generous laugh. Near death experiences at the front end of boats that an uncle smashed into a dock when he confused drive on the gear shift for neutral, my cousin barely escaped with his life, were retold over many decades. Each humorous narration was a chance to play together and enact bonds that still hold us together, more loosely now that Dickey and Carolyn are gone, as a family.
When we told humorous stories, we recognized each other as morally responsible people, invited play in language all together by the forebears who made play in words a formative part of our family identity. Taking care of Dickey at the end of his life brought this kind of play up in the days I had the honor to share with him. It invited appreciation for what play we could still find together and grief for the command of language that Dickey was losing little by little. Even when he was struggling to speak with as much eloquence as before, Grandpa never lost his attitude of play. It had to take on different expressions, like an ironic laugh or a twinkle in his eye. And it took more work for me to recognize, as I cleared enough space through mindfulness practice to pay close attention and be curious about what Grandpa was sharing with me.
