Tues., Oct. 25, 2005

From the archives (Sept. 22, 2005)

It figures that as I write yesterday about the need to simply be with someone rather than worrying about doing something, I get a call yesterday to be somewhere and I end up actually *doing* something that helped immensely. I went to visit an older couple from our church who recently moved from their home of 40 years into an apartment. He has Alzheimer’s which, as anyone who has cared for someone with this disease knows, can be stressful at times. I don’t have a ton of experience in dealing with folks with dementia or Alzheimer’s, but I know enough to be patient, listen to stories told repeatedly, and encourage them to talk about things they do remember. I did that with him yesterday, but it wasn’t until his wife mentioned that he loves his records that I discovered my purpose that day. She was unable to hook her stereo up, which consisted simply of a receiver and a turntable. We went into the room where the stereo was located, I was able to connect her speakers and the turntable to the receiver, she went to get some albums, and a few minutes later, a sound I hadn’t heard in a while came through the speakers. I didn’t buy my first compact disc until I was in college so I’m more than familiar with records, both 45s and 33s. It had been close to 20 years, however, since I heard that familiar pop of the turntable arm and the soft hisses and scratches of a needle on vinyl. Soon Benny Goodman came through the speakers and the man I was visiting with was transformed. He was listening so intently to the clarinet, horns, and piano of this jazz combo. He’d wince slightly when the record when scratch, but I could tell he was in a place that brought back wonderful memories. As I stood there listening with the both of them, I realized that moment would be a wonderful memory for me, too.
I’m sure my being a “pastor” and listening and comforting was helpful, but it was my modest skills as a stereo technician that really helped. I was able to do and be at the same time.