George and the Magical Memory Pool
“I’m a new man!” He shouted as he let go of his walker. He stood as straight as he could without falling backward and raised his arms above his head in celebration. His towel fell from his shoulders to the floor, revealing his pale, weathered chest. His glasses were fogged over from the humidity and what little hair he had left was pointing straight up.
“I’m a new man!” he declared again. Then he leaned forward to take hold of his walker again. I placed the towel back over his shoulders and he shuffled slowly out the door into the hot sun to get back on the bus.
George had dementia. Most days he didn’t say much. When he did, it wasn’t kind. He didn’t recognize his surroundings. Scared, he would lash out at the nurses and caregivers, and chaplains. He spit and swore, hit, and tried to bite. Other times he would sit still in his chair and stare.
I was one of the chaplains for the summer in the care facility where George lived. I never got bit, but I did get spit on more than once. He likely didn’t weigh 100 pounds but he was still strong. It hurt when he hit, and if he got hold of your wrist it took more than one person to loosen his grip.
Despite all of this I liked George. I would often sit with him. I brought my guitar into the memory unit and would sit in the chair next to him and play. Whenever I did his body seemed to relax and he would break his stare, so I sat with him most days.
Then my supervisor had an idea. It was a wonderful and crazy idea! “What if we take a few of our memory care residents swimming every Thursday?”
“I’m in!” I replied without hesitation. It was a HOT summer and I had to wear a shirt and tie all day every day. Hitting the pool for an hour sounded like a winner. That Thursday he gave out our assignments. Each of the chaplains was partnered with a resident to swim with. George was my partner.
I held one of his hands and kept the other around his shoulder as we carefully made our way fully into the water. It wasn’t deep. It came just up to my chest, but it was cool and wonderful. When we were about knee-deep, George stopped and slowly turned his head in my direction. I saw something I had never seen before. George smiled. It wasn’t just a little grin. His eyes were bright. His cheeks were raised and he let out what I can only describe as a giggle.
We spent the rest of the hour doing a lap around the outside of the pool. He held on to the side and shuffled sideways and I followed. And we talked. We really talked. Something about being surrounded by water awakened George. He didn’t swear or spit or stare. Instead, he told stories and laughed. In the water George’s body and mind were free. It was magical.
When we finished our lap and made our way to the pool deck I helped George dry off. I put a towel around his shoulders and placed his walker in front of him. He leaned forward, took hold of the handles, and put his weight back on the frame to prepare for the walk back. Before we left (and before the magic faded) I asked, “George, how do you feel?”
“I’m a new man!”
And even if it was just for a moment it was true.