Perspective. Point of view. Scientific experimentation. Verifiable, empirical knowledge. Assumptions. Imagination. Proof.
The School for Skeptics always has room for more . . . but should we be listening?
Who gets to define these? How, why, and for how long? How many centuries did it take for the earth to “become” round? I learned a wonderful thing about Truth and reality from my grandma when Alzheimer’s disease changed her from an ordinary human into a particular and new to me kind of visionary. I suppose I’d been around plenty of people before who, whether through illness or anomaly, through some life episode or misadventure or merely through the self-guided development of ingenious discovery or delusional ideation, saw the world and its verities quite differently from the majority of us others. But I don’t think I’d paid very close attention to what that might mean, before ‘meeting’ the new and different version of Grandma.
Grandma grew blurry . . . or was it only that the borderlands between our reality and another began to thin perceptibly?
She had already been moved into a lovely and much safer residence than her solo apartment, a place where she was fed properly, kept safe from rambling until lost, and tended like a well-loved family member, and she had begun very tenuously to adopt it as her home when I went along with my parents to visit her. Since she had acquired a roommate now and their quarters were modestly scaled, the other four of us strolled down to a pleasant sitting room nicely made for visiting. That is to say, Mom and Dad and I strolled, and Grandma rolled, now that she had completely forgotten she knew how to walk–except for rare occasions when, the staff informed us, she would simply get up and do whatever it was she wanted to do, then go back to her wheelchair and promptly forget again that she was quite fully ambulatory.
In the sitting room, which was comfortable and softly lit, there were several wing chairs and a small table with side chairs where guests could set cups of coffee or tea while socializing or perhaps play a game of cards if they wished; there were old-fashioned painting reproductions on the walls and dated but sweet wallpaper and there was a little arrangement of eternal, artificial flowers. There was also a bookcase, a fairly small one but basically empty, possibly because the residents in the dementia ward of the home didn’t quite know how to handle books gently enough any more or simply wandered off with them. We were curious and a little nonplussed by the place’s bothering to keep an empty bookcase around, but my grandmother wasn’t the least bit disconcerted. It was a quiet room and had an empty bookshelf because it was a Library for People Who Don’t Read. And that was that. It was funny, yes, but in addition it seemed, well, a little bit childish and decidedly more discombobulated than anything my former grandma, my actual grandma, would ever have said and I felt slightly embarrassed and more than a little sad.
There are innumerable soft places for landing, but dare we visit them? Dare we stay?
She chattered a little, mostly in a nonsensical stream of short non-sequiturs, and eventually, grew a bit tired and weary and disappeared from the effort of conversation more and more until we thought she might just be falling asleep. So it was time for us to toddle off down the hallway to her own room again and make her cozy there. Her identification of the family photos on the wall was tenuous at best, and wholly disconnected from anyone in the room who happened to be represented in the photos. She told short stories that were part memory of long-ago times, part yesterday’s lunch, and part spontaneous fiction. She was quite taken with the tall evergreen outside her second story window. It turned out, she was mostly attracted to the man she saw sitting up in its branches there.
By then I was very tired too. It was mighty hard to follow these oddly disjointed and intermingled sentences and thoughts enough to attempt interaction with her anymore, and I was already sure that any comments I made or efforts to connect with what she was saying or thinking were pointless and soon forgotten anyway. I was very unhappy with myself for being so impatient and distracted and unable to just love this new and strange person living in Grandma’s shell. When the man outside her window was clearly more interesting to her than to me, I also became glumly frustrated with her lack of presence in reality.
It was then that I realized that Mom and Dad carried on the conversation with Grandma pretty much as though they could see the man up there too. They didn’t necessarily bait her or make things up willy-nilly, but they gently followed where she led and made no move to contradict her anywhere along the way.
I’m no genius. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear many and many a time. But it did finally occur to me that there was a perfectly reasonable reason to treat this whole interaction as though it were the most logical and natural thing in the whole wide world. Gently, my parents confirmed this bit of cosmic brilliance that had accidentally leaked into my small and putty-like brain. Which is, very simply, that we have no proof that there wasn’t a fella up in that cedar tree that Grandma could see, maybe even converse with somehow. Our failure to see him or understand what he was working to make known to us may very well have been purely a symptom of our being limited to our dimension or aspect of reality or interpretation of the universe, whereas my changed grandmother was now free to traverse the tesseract, leap the boundaries and see through the veil of human limitation at will.
Are all of the people who see, hear and believe things that others cannot see, hear or believe by definition wrong or damaged? Or is it just possible that there are realities and truths that we ordinary mortals of the majority haven’t the proper senses necessary for apprehending, that we can’t yet comprehend those particular particles? Something tells me it’s about time we come to our senses and allow that there may be a whole lot more going on than meets the human eye.
What do you see, now that you are so far away?
Art-Colored Glasses 
There’s a lot of food for thought in this post. I was reminded as I read it of my Dad’s last few months on the planet. 😉
Honestly, I think there are few of us who don’t experience something that is not so clear or visible or understandable to others at one time or another, so it ought to be standard operating procedure that we assume it all *may* be true before dismissing others’ experiences entirely.
Wow! Like a blind man telling a sighted person that rainbows don’t exist. Great post, Kathryn. You cause me to think with every post. Thanks! 🙂
I love the rainbow analogy–there is so much beauty and promise possible if we choose to examine other points of view and maybe even believe in or accept what brings peace and joy and meaning to others.
Dear Kathryn, I’m so deeply touched by this that I barely have words. So moving, thought-provoking, heart-breakingly, hauntingly beautiful. What an exquisite piece of writing! This is one of those pieces that is like a mirror onto the heart that wrote it. And the photographs, oh! Kathryn!
I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Antoinette. You are so kind. Isn’t that a pretty girlhood photo of Grandma? It’s from a wonderful whole-family portrait that I’m ‘cleaning up’ digitally and so had the chance to see what a sweet expressive image it was of the individuals in it as well.
“And, by the way, Dearie…there *is* such a thing as a tesseract…”
Good old Mrs. Whosit, friend from childhood – or was it Mrs. Which?
I have several friends who have worked in care homes, both with dementia patients, and those who are simply old. They have wonderful stories about the people their patients “see” and talk to. Many believe that they are truly linked to some other plane that their mental state allows them to access, while the rest of us ‘normals’ are stuck with what’s right in front of our dulled senses.
Lovely post.
I realized as I was writing this that I’m *long* overdue to reread Ms LeGuin’s great stuff, so of course I can’t remember if it was one of those fine dames or Mrs Whatsit who made the observation! Yes, it seems to me there are too many evidences of unseen worlds and truths for us to just assume we can spot all of them.
There have been a few times in my life that I’ve been convinced I was somewhere I was not, or, at least, where the brain that lives in this dimension couldn’t accept. My mother had Alzheimer’s that grew progressively more pronounced in the last few years of her life. She saw a little girl that always seemed to be standing just slightly to her right and slightly behind her, but we quickly learned to move around the space the little girl inhabited so as not to bump her. People that weren’t acclimated to this would often get VERY uncomfortable when they would observe this behavior, or when we all spoke of the little girl as if all of the eyes in the room could see her. My mother, on the other hand, was visibly calmed by the presence of the little girl, so we took her with us everywhere.
Thank you for two things … one, the reminder that we are doing ourselves a favor by acknowledging that what our eyes are able to see is only part of the picture, and two, for leading the way to the memory of how I got at least one part of the journey right when it came to caring for my mom … I never once pretended the little girl didn’t exist, and in fact, welcomed her gently into our world. She kept my mother company, and made her feel safe. She was real.
And I, in turn, was deeply moved by your own post, such a beautiful and gentle tribute to your mother and to the powerful and unique love that you found blossoming for and with her in her last years. So touching and so gracefully told!
Oh once again you read my mind, and having worked with many old people in various stages of apparent dementia who were endlessly talking with their deceased spouses i began to wonder if in face they were not there after all. Once I accepted their gentle presence the questions – how are you alice and how is my henry this morning?, seemed quite natural and were met with calm approval from alice. All agitation.. gone.. Loneliness .. gone. How clever your parents were and what a wonderful piece of writing. i enjoyed this one immensely!
My sister had an imaginary friend who lived in a tiny bus stop in the middle of a crossroads at the bottom of a hill, just short of the beach . We all hung out the window of the car and waved along with Gabrielle when she called out to her as we passed. My Mother was very definite about ensuring that us oldies did not burst the bubble of Gabrielle’s imaginary friend. She had a name that i remembered for such a long time and now I have forgotton it.. Hmm, I must ask G .. c
I knew a delightful young girl of Norwegian lineage who told us the most winsome and charming story of her good friend Jake Gribbleson, who worked in the lefse factory. His job, we learned on inquiry, was (of course!) painting the brown spots on the lefse as it baked.
These things I know all to well…so wonderfully written.
Oh, Terri, I hope if you’re in the midst of such things you have good support people around you! It’s one thing to be sympathetic, but we all have limited energy and strength.
Thank you, I have learned to step away and get a little help which is one reason why my blog is such a treasure to me.
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“Or is it just possible that there are realities and truths that we ordinary mortals of the majority haven’t the proper senses necessary for apprehending, that we can’t yet comprehend those particular particles?”
Yes, it’s possible; many believe there are such transcendent realities, and others, even in the School for Skeptics that you mentioned at the beginning, wish there were. One of those was the English writer Thomas Hardy. Here’s how he put his wistful wishing into words in “The Oxen”:
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel,
“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.
Thank you for the lovely Hardy piece. Certainly any sort of belief system or religion requires faith in things not easily seen or explained.
I saw elements of this when both of my parents lives wound down. It never occurred to any of us to try to stop their conversations or time travel. What would have been the point? I thought it meant that each had some business to tend before leaving. Was I right? I dunno but I will ask the next time I see them.
I’m not being fatuous when I say, ‘it’s the only way to fly’. I’d much rather believe there’s more than meets the human eye or is known to mere mortals’ simple senses. A much richer realm, if you ask me.
Very thoughtful…and filled with things to think about.
Perspectives can be so difficult to understand…
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I’ve nominated you for the ABC Blogger Award, Kathryn. You can find out more here:
Much love,
‘Nessa.
Thank you, dear ‘Nessa! I’ll come by for a look shortly.
I do find it fascinating how many little clues may be around us every single day to say that there are all kinds of things we’ve yet to know, but it takes us a long and plodding time to discover them. Being only human and all!
For raising two children who often “observe” things I can not see myself, I have accepted longtime ago that there has to be different manners of “seeing”. I believe our reasoning brain gets in the way. We could learn to see with our hearts and get to see much more of the world we live in 🙂
Lots to think of Kathryn
I know from your writing that you’re sensitive enough to understand more than just the ordinary world. Whether you learned that from your children or from your own intuition and caring heart, it’s in you!
This touched me deeply, Kathryn. There’s so much that we don’t understand. Whether the man in the tree was there or not, he was a familiar face to her. One of my daughters had an imaginary friend that we never tried to talk her out of. Perhaps we need them when we are very young and very old.
That last photo is stunning. Those eyes so questioning; what was she pondering?
I couldn’t help but wonder what Grandma saw even then when I looked at this picture. Seems to me that some of us catch glimpses of the Other from time to time, and maybe Grandma had more opportunities than most.
Oh my. You speak wisdom and pose questions that I ponder often……I wonder who is really thinking clearly?? Wonderful post, Kathryn.
Our knowledge and ability to find answers–so limited in this plane! Who and what we are in the larger picture I can’t really imagine fully even when my imagination is stretching to its utmost . . .
Wise and clever words Kathryn. And much food for thought. Who are we to question what our loved ones see and do as they reach the end of their full lives – as long as they are well and happy it´s lovely if we can share a little of their world with them before they go.
After all, they already have brought so much to our lives, and this is only another opportunity to find new riches together if we’re open to it.
the word “comprehend” resonates for me, we need to comprehend others, regardless. That and your parents gentle approach was beautiful, why disturn and upset or antagonise?
I think, too, that we need to learn to accept people comprehensively if we can–that is, fully, and in wholeness. It’s not easy–maybe even entirely possible–but something worth striving for while we can. It’s the way I understand the concept of *unconditional* love.
Now I miss my grandparents, we had a lot of good time together. Stories of war, old photos of relatives and even how everything costs like cents during their days
I feel so very lucky that I got to know all of my grandparents–three of them lived until I was an adult, when I was finally learning to fully appreciate such wonderful gifts from being with them.
Isn’t that intangible bearer of creativity & ideas we call the “muse” an imaginary friend of sorts?
I do agree–and I’d also include guardian angels, protective spirits, totems, animal companions who communicate with us on a different level–there are so many among us who may not be visible or comprehended by everyone else but hold very important places in our lives, if we’re willing and able to pay them proper attention.
A very nice post, Kathryn, and one that touched me particularly, because I have a mother who is over 100 years old, and she has been described as suffering from dementia recently. I for my part, am still able to enjoy conversations with her, and visits. It seems to me that she forgets a lot, and has forgotten a good part of the past… but even so, in our conversations, I can often forget completely her own disabilities, and just enjoy her company. There is much we have in common. I enjoyed reading your thoughts on the subject.
Bless your dear mother! She clearly brings special gifts to your life even as her own is gradually diminishing, and that is a very potent gift indeed.
‘…a symptom of our being limited to our dimension or aspect of reality or interpretation of the universe, whereas my changed grandmother was now free to traverse the tesseract, leap the boundaries and see through the veil of human limitation at will.’
What more is there to say? Except to echo what you so gorgeously expressed in your visits with your grandmother as she is transformed by magic as much as if not more than illness.
Is it any different than how a writer or painter using their imagination to create, a little crazed to others who cannot see the point and certainly not feel the liberation that an illusion–a vision–can offer?
Exactly! One’s unique point of view is dependent on how willing one is to recognize what *may* be real or important, not only what is known or proven.
I love, love, love, LOVE this post, dear Kathryn! You have put into words something that I have always believed. There are times in our lives when we are more open to the unseen – childhood, old age and, I think, severe times of stress and trauma. As it is, right now, my mind is too occupied with the minutiae of each day and just trying to get through each day; I don’t think it has the energy to greet the man in the tree. He will be waiting for later….
I happen to know that that whole forest outside *your* windows is positively brimming with tree-sitters awaiting your beck and call. 🙂 We’re both lucky that way. May you find moments free to commune with them whenever possible. I knew *you* would understand. 🙂
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Hi Kathryn. I wanted to stop by and thank you for all your wonderful posts as well as for following my blog, Creative Musings. Hope you will enjoy future posts and have a fabulous day!