Living Through Windows... Alzheimer's Disease Series

By Mike Bockoven
michael.bockoven@theindependent.com

Seeing Through Windows

Mona Casey got a unique opportunity several weeks ago.

Casey's mother, Phyllis Seifert, was in her last hours of life. Pneumonia had set in, and it was pretty clear Phyllis wasn't going to live through the night.

With a huge family picture above her head with dozens of children and grandchildren almost spilling out of the frame, Mona held her mother in her arms and sang to her.

"I sang all the songs I could think of and just hugged her," Casey said. "Then she went to the Lord."

"Amazing Grace." "The Old Rugged Cross." Casey sang, hugged and cried, and Phyllis passed in what her daughter described as being "at peace."

Moments after Phyllis died, the caregivers on Third Phillips were working, taking care of final medical issues, calling the funeral home and hugging Mona. When Barb Pressler and Larry Seifert, two more of Phyllis' children, appeared shortly after her death, the staff consoled them, too.

Hours later, they were telling stories about Phyllis, how she'd tease people in the nurse's station, how her smile could light up a room. They reminisced about the final meal she had shared with her husband, also a member of the veterans home, and marveled at the pictures Phyllis kept in her room, including one of a kiss she'd shared with her husband, David, when he got back from serving overseas. They cared, they shared, and they wept. That's life up on Third Phillips.

"You get an idea of how frail life is when you work up here," Tasha Hamm said. "You fall in love with everybody you take care of. You work so closely with people on this unit, it's really tough to see them spiral. You know they're all eventually going to, but it's never easy. Never."

In truth, the caregivers on Third Phillips admit they never really know the people they care for as they were, but they know them as they are.

What they do get is a window into their lives through what they say, what they do, who they are. They get a sense of family by who comes to see them and a sense of personality by spending time with them, even as the disease has ripped the very soul of these people away, robbed them of who they are. They get glimpses; they get views; they get windows.

They appreciate that.

"It's such a kick," Luther said. "I love it when suddenly you understand this person so much better because of this little thing they did. It's a miracle when it happens. It's truly a miracle."

Windows :: Third Floor Phillips :: A Typical Day in an Atypical Place
The Caregivers :: The Members :: The Families :: The Need
Opening the Doors :: Seeing Through Windows