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Do Not Cast Me Away: Dementia in the Congregation
Do Not Cast Me Away: Dementia in the Congregation
Do Not Cast Me Away: Dementia in the Congregation
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Do Not Cast Me Away: Dementia in the Congregation

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The quick facts are these: Alzheimer's Disease is the sixth leading cause of death in the United States and is the only cause of death in the top ten in America that cannot be prevented, slowed, or cured. In 2015, dementias cost our nation an estimated $226 billion. By 2050, these costs could rise to as high as $1.1 trillion.
Dementias not only affect individuals and their families, they plague us in other kinds of ways, as well. What happens when the owner of the most important company in town begins to be affected? Or a surgeon at the hospital? Or the pastor of your church? No place that involves people is immune. If dementia has not come to your pulpit, it will. It most assuredly has arrived already in your congregation.
The aim of this book is to demystify dementia in order to encourage families and congregations to respond to it in meaningful, helpful, and faithful ways. This is a conversation we all need to enter. Like it or not, dealing with dementia is now part of the stewardship of our lives together.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 12, 2020
ISBN9781725251786
Do Not Cast Me Away: Dementia in the Congregation
Author

Paul Rader

Paul Rader is the pastor of Northside Presbyterian Church in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He has served congregations in Kentucky and West Virginia, as well as in Tennessee, and was the Coordinator for Mission for the Coalition for Appalachian Ministry.

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    Do Not Cast Me Away - Paul Rader

    Introduction

    After a hectic morning at home watering the yard, jogging with the dog, returning phone calls, and checking email, I hopped in my car and drove toward church and suddenly realized that I could not remember if I had turned off the water sprinkler. I tried to call a neighbor to check for me, but she did not answer her phone. There was nothing else to do. Reluctantly I turned around. As I had feared, a steady spray of water was moving back and forth across a patch of newly planted grass. I must be getting Alzheimer’s, I told myself, as I got out of the car to do what I thought I had already done.

    Isn’t that one of the things we say when we forget something? Once upon a time we would say we were distracted, or multi-tasking, or had ADD, or just weren’t paying attention. But with age comes the terrifying specter of dementia.

    According to information on the Alzheimer’s Association’s website, the quick facts are these: Alzheimer’s disease is the sixth leading cause of death in the United States; one in three seniors dies with Alzheimer’s or some other dementia; and Alzheimer’s disease is the only cause of death in the top ten in America that cannot be prevented, slowed, or cured. In 2015 Alzheimer’s and other dementias cost our nation $226 billion. By 2050, these costs could rise as high as $1.1 trillion.

    Dementias not only affect individuals and their families; they plague us in other kinds of ways, as well. What happens when the owner of the most important company in town begins to be affected? Or a surgeon at the hospital? Or the pastor of your church? No place that involves people is immune. If dementia has not come to your pulpit, it will. It most assuredly has arrived already in your congregation.

    Fresh out of seminary (in 1984) I was called to be the Associate Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Ashland, Kentucky. Part of that proud congregation’s legacy is the longevity of two of its senior pastors: W. C. Condit and Samuel R. Curry. Condit served an amazing fifty-five years, from 1866 to 1921; Curry served for thirty-six years. Being a history buff, I did a fair amount of digging into the careers of these two men, and as Curry retired in 1963, there were dozens of church members who remembered him. (There were a few who remembered Condit, too!)

    But, whereas Condit was spoken of with the reverence one would expect of a beloved figure, there was a blight of sorts when it came to Curry. The stated reason for his retirement was poor health. Those who kept up with him afterward remarked that he was hospitalized for an extended period of time near the end of his life. Several people said they made an effort to visit him in the hospital (or later in a nursing home) but finally gave up because it distressed them so. He had a loud voice and could be heard bellowing down the hallway, shouting the most hateful things. Years later I realized he must have suffered from some form of dementia.

    Dementia has been present in every congregation I have served—in Ashland, Kentucky; Huntington, West Virginia; Knoxville, Tennessee; and Chattanooga, Tennessee. In one case, I suspect it was in the pulpit. It may be in yours, too. For certain, it is in your congregation. Dealing with dementia may be the greatest health care challenge facing our generation. It is a theological challenge, too: What does it mean to be human if we can no longer think? Does a demented person reflect the image of God? The children of Israel were enjoined to remember their captivity in Egypt and to remember their deliverance, and the church remembers the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ every time it celebrates communion. What is the implication for our faith if we cannot remember?

    I began working on this book as a way to guide my own efforts in ministry with people with dementia and their caregivers. The time I put in on it would not have been possible without love and support from my wife, Linda, and the generosity of numerous church members and their families who let me into their lives. In the pages that follow I will explore (among other things) what dementia is, how to recognize it, what it does to people, and how families and church communities deal with it. I will share some of the ways it unfolded in people I cared for and in families I love. I admit at the outset that what follows will in no way be comprehensive.

    Ultimately, the aim of this book is to demystify dementia in order to encourage people and congregations to respond to it in meaningful, helpful, and faithful ways. This is a conversation we all need to enter. Like it or not, dealing with dementia is now part of the stewardship of our lives together. As people and as congregations, it’s what we do: deal with what comes our way, and care for one another no matter what.

    1

    Susan and Charlie

    I’ve been wondering, Isabelle commented reflectively
    over dessert, "if it is foolish to make new memories
    when you know you are going to lose them."

    —Erica Bauermeister,

    The School of Essential Ingredients

    I was half listening to the evening news while fixing dinner one evening when I heard a name mentioned that I knew. Then another familiar name, then a voice I recognized. Sliding around the counter from the kitchen to the sitting room where our television stood, I saw Charlie and Susan Smith, members of a church I had previously served, being interviewed for participating in a Walk to End Alzheimer’s.

    Charlie and Susan

    I was thrilled. Charlie and Susan were two of my favorite people. They had moved from Kingsport to Knoxville while I was at First Presbyterian, Knoxville. He was a retired chemical engineer; she had worked for Holston Presbytery. Their son, Preston, his wife, Emily, and their family had been among the younger couples at First Church. When their son Charlie (named after his granddad) was little, my wife and I babysat him a few times.

    My elation over seeing them interviewed faded as I caught on to the reason they had been singled out. I heard Susan say, It’s a slow progressing, which is nice. He does everything for himself. I can leave him home; there’s no problem. He can fix himself a meal, he can clean up after himself, too. He’s very good at that.

    A few months later I found myself in their living room. Charlie was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease, and they were remarkably candid about it all. Susan said even before they moved to Knoxville, she had a suspicion that something was amiss. She said Charlie would say or do something that was out of character, but it would be a small thing that she would forget about until the next occurrence.

    Eventually she brought it up with their family physician. He told her that Charlie seemed perfectly normal in his brief interactions with him, but that she should keep track of incidents that she could tell him about later. He would investigate based on her observations.

    The realization that something is wrong with a person, that a loved one isn’t thinking correctly, is one of the most difficult issues anyone has to face. It was hard for Susan, as you can imagine. And Charlie began to take his own creeping dementia seriously after having a conversation with Preston about an event that didn’t happen. He thought it had; Preston assured him it hadn’t. This put the whole family on alert.

    Charlie Smith is a brilliant man. If any person could turn back the tides of Alzheimer’s by sheer brain power, Charlie could. His area of expertise was explosives, and his lab developed something known as RDX and HMX, used by our military in Vietnam and afterwards. He is still able to work a daily crossword puzzle in ink, but he has clearly slowed down. He was always quiet and thoughtful; now he is doubly so.

    Susan shared with me a comment he made to her that I suspect most caregivers have heard. She was explaining to him something going on with her brother-in-law who was ill. Charlie did not remember that the brother-in-law had had leukemia for years. She told him that she realized he might forget what she told him and would remind him if he wished. He said that he wanted her to remind him. Then he said, You know, I forget that I forget.

    One of his first decisions after coming to grips with his illness was to give up his car keys. Sold my car, bought a new refrigerator was how he put it. The family says it was more involved than that, but he had the right idea.

    As I talked with the two of them about their television interview and the reason for it, I couldn’t help but marvel at how normal they appeared.

    Susan’s Letter

    A week or so after my visit with them, Susan sent me the following letter. I have her permission to reprint it below.

    Paul,

    Charlie and I enjoyed our visit with you last week and appreciate you for coming. We will

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