TAKE ME TO YOUR MOON 2
Journeys into the World of Dementia
(2022 - 2024, 1998 - 1999)
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"COULD YOU STILL HOLD MY HAND?" #114, 1998, 24x29"
I still remember a poem pinned on the wall of a resident’s room in a nursing home. It was something like this: I used to sing, dance, run, work, laugh, and love. But time has robbed them of me. I can no longer sing or dance. I am wheelchair-bound With a frown on my sagging face. I have to be fed. I have to be put to bed. I cannot even recognize you. Yet could you still come to hold my hand? 
UNFAILING LOVE #318, 2022, 17.5x17x18", sold In a nursing home where I worked, residents had half an hour to eat a meal. Shane was one of a few who needed to be syringe-fed. One day, his wife visited, and we set his tray in a corner away from the busy cafeteria. When she requested a spoon, I asked, “Does Shane open his mouth?” She answered, “Yes, he does if you give him enough time.” The lunch ended, and the other residents were back in bed for a nap. Shane’s wife was still spoon-feeding him, restoring some dignity to the life of this old rancher. 
PEARL #343, 2024, 14.75x15x7 Pearl was a Lakota resident at a nursing home. Whenever we saw new nurse’s aides idling, we sent them to her. Soon, we would see them walking in the hallway hand in hand. Whenever I stopped at her room, she would raise her arms and say happily, “Come visit with me,” as if I were her old friend. However, she did not remember me or what had happened to her a few minutes ago. Her mind lived in her old days, and she sometimes walked away from the nursing home. As we ran after her, she would say, “I hate to go because everybody is nice to me, but my brother is waiting for me in the wagon.” Pearl was loved. Her secret was love that she readily shared. 
MUSIC TO OUR EARS #345, 2024, 9.5x9.5x9" Miracles happen as soon as our favorite music reaches our ears. For instance, a mute man stooped in a wheelchair raised his head, opened his eyes wide, and sang, swinging his limbs rhythmically. His jubilation was contagious, and he even managed to carry on a conversation. In another case, a comatose woman moved her limbs. Even a smile unfolded. Music evoked the long-suppressed joy of living over and over again in nursing home residents. * Documentary “Alive Inside: A Story of Music and Memory” 
LIFT THEM UP #348, 2024, 16.5x19.25x7.5" In Blue Zones (regions of longevity), dementia is rare. If such persons are located, the symptoms are mild. Social supports are believed to play a major role in this.* On the other hand, about 1 in 9 Americans (age 65 and older) has Alzheimer’s. Most live at home with a family member. As the disease progresses, the stress and isolation take a toll on the health of both caregivers and receivers.** What can we do to combat this? The only answer I have found is to make time to reach out. I am not good at it, but I am going to try. * TED Radio Hour: “Living Longer…And Better” by Dan Buettner ** Alzheimer Association: Alzheimer Disease Facts and Figures 
EARTHLY JUDGEMENT #346, 2024, 15.5x24x14" My paternal grandmother lived with us when I was growing up. As far as I can remember, she never helped my mother with house chores or childcare. Her daily routine consisted of eating, watching TV, napping, criticizing my parents, and checking her pillbox. Years passed. With my father’s business on the verge of bankruptcy, my parents had no time to care for the now-blind-and-incontinent grandmother and begged her to move to live with one of her other children. She refused, saying it was my father, her first son’s, filial duty. She fell, broke her hip and was hospitalized. As she did not eat, a tube feeding was started. After she pulled the nasogastric tube twice, her wrists were tied to the bed. I, a nursing student, returned home around that time. An aunt complained to me that my mother should stay at the bedside and ensure she would not pull the tube. That evening, I volunteered to look after the grandmother “at home” until she passed. My father’s reply was defensive. “Can you imagine what your uncles and aunt would say to me if I took her out of the hospital against the doctor’s advice?” 
DEPARTURE #347, 2024, sculpture 5x7x21", painting diameter 22" Lying on a hospital bed, my grandmother slept like a baby for days. Suddenly, the silent patient called for her husband and an old employee named Doh at the top of her voice, again and again. The shout scared an elder in the next room, as she knew both men had been long dead. Early the next morning, a nurse found the grandmother had passed. “Grandpa and Doh came to get her,” I said to myself when I saw her peaceful face with a faint smile. 
END AND BEGINNING OF CYCLE #125, 1999, 30x30" When death is near, loved ones, long dead, sometimes appear to escort the dying one. There may be a long, dark tunnel with bright light, calmness, and tranquility at the very end. It is beauty beyond description. The phenomenon happens to some people regardless of religion, race, class, or age; no matter how spiritual or agnostic they have been; or how fulfilling or pitiful their lives have been. Beauty and peace await us at the end of our journey. Through the brief experience of dying, isn’t the Creator showing us how nonjudgmentally He loves us? 
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