Don't sweat the small things!

 Years ago, I was a preschool teacher. I loved it. I loved the sweet little faces and the funny things they would say. I taught for many years throughout college and after. I have stories and memories from my time teaching that I will carry with me forever. Now that dad is living in a memory care facility, I am reliving those earlier years for I am finding that preschool tots and memory care patients have a lot in common. And I find it so sweet.



When I walk in to see dad, the hallway is eerily quiet. Hmmm, I think. Reminds me of nap time. As I walk down the hallway, I stop at dad’s room. He is asleep in his recliner with tv remote still in hand. I don’t bother him and continue towards the dining room. Every room I pass, I notice a sweet soul either curled up in their bed or sound asleep sitting up right as they fell asleep in a sudden moment. Just like nap time years prior. I would finally get all of the children on their cots with their blankets and stuffies. Some would want to sit up and read a book which was fine as long as they provided quite for their friends. Others were out as soon as I tucked them in while the ones who insisted on reading would be sound asleep with in minutes, sitting up right, book still in their laps. Nap time for me was always a much needed time, which I am sure it is for staff in the memory care unit too. It provided a break, a moment to catch up on a million tasks that needed to be done a week ago, and allowed me a moment to breathe. Knowing to take advantage of the stillness, even if for just a brief moment. Knowing that the afternoon would be full of surprises.



I spoke to the nurse and aides for a little bit and then slowly walked back to dad’s room. On my way, I noticed the rustling of blankets, bathroom doors opening and closing, tv’s being turned on, and the sound of life coming back from a slumber, recharged and ready to go. Very similar to the days when I would turn back on the lights and open the blinds to see the sweetest little sleepy faces slowly start to open their eyes. They would look up at me, smile with their toothless grins, and remind me of how precious life is. And it was no different when I walked into dads room. He looked at me, grinned, and said “Hi Vanessa!” Reminding me that life is indeed precious.



But it wasn’t long before he was up and ready to go. Dad asked me if I wanted to go out to eat. I said “sure, where are we going to go?” He smiled and told me to follow him. But first, he had to try all the door knobs (closet door, bathroom, door, and bedroom door) until he found the right one. Still weary from his nap and a little confused. Just like the little boy or girl stuffing their giant sized blanket and pillow into their tiny little backpack in their tiny little cubby with half closed eyes and the typical patience of a 4 year old. Once dad found the right door to exit, he was ready to go. We walked hand in hand down the hallway. There was laughter coming from one room where a man had turned the tv on to see something that made him chuckle. Reminded me of the little group of girls coming from the rest room break laughing at something only they knew was to be funny. A women came out of her room and followed dad and I closely. As she got right on my heels she asked me to stop. She asked me if I could ask the nurse for some apple juice and peanut butter to feed her cats. I told her I would ask. Then she proceeded to tell me why she needed peanut butter and apple juice for her cats because that is all they will eat and she didn’t want them to starve to death. Years prior, the same kind of conversation was had with a little boy who carried his plastic dinosaur every where he went and would pick up pebbles from the playground. I would find them scattered all over the classroom floor. But his dinosaur needed to eat or he would “starf to def” too. Another woman was sitting on a couch next to the dining area. A nurses aide was trying to get her to come in and join the group that was gathering around the table. She was having nothing to do with it. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest yelling she wasn’t going anywhere, just like the preschoolers did who HATED getting up from nap time. It would take at least 30 minutes of coaxing before they would be awake enough to join the group.



Another man walked into the dining area asking where lunch was. The nurse politely told him it would be coming in about an hour. No matter how many times you tell a four year old that snack is coming, they will still ask you 3 more times. Just like this man did. In a total of 5 minutes, he walked back into the dining area 3 more times asking the same question and being told the same answer. During this time, the nurse was taking blood sugars for the residents with diabetes, an aide was pouring cups of coffee, the woman across the way was still yelling that she still was not going to come in to the dining area, the woman who asked me about the cats was now asking another person if she knew where her cats had gone, my dad was asking people if they had caught any fish, and another man walked into the area completely soaked from an bathroom accident. Complete chaos. I traveled back in time to remember those hectic moments. Trying to pick up the cots, manage bathroom turns, calm a child who was having a break down, stop two little boys from sitting on each other, stop the two at the sink from seeing who can spray the water the farthest, and answer a million little questions all at the same time. And then once things started to settle, you would step in a puddle and realize someone didn’t make it to the bathroom on time. Those days were hard. But then a small little hand would take mine and ask me to walk with them, or I would hear “I love you Miss Vanessa,” or being on the playground and having a little run back to me because a goodbye was forgotten. These small little acts of humanity made the stress melt away.



As I sat in the dining room with dad after the chaos had settled I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Like all of the stress magically disappeared and all was well in the world. The nurse was walking the man who had an accident back into the dining room and I heard him say, “thank you for helping me with my pants.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and told him it was no problem at all. The lady who had been adamant that she would not join the group was now sitting with 2 other ladies enjoying a cup of juice. The lady asking about her cats was still asking about her cats, but seemed more content with the answers she was being given. A few other men were at a table laughing about something that had been said. Dad and I were enjoying coffee. Looking around at everyone, I realized that people with memory loss and preschoolers have a lot in common. Life had happened and life moved on. No one was dwelling on bathroom accidents or lost cats. No one was still sitting in the corner, arms crossed refusing to join. That is the beauty of it. Life is full of chaos, but it is how we deal with it that matters. One of my favorite sayings is, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” And that is true. We have enough “big stuff” to worry about that we shouldn’t spend too much time on the little stuff. So yet again, a moment turned into a lesson on this journey in life. (silver lining).