dementia – Feminism and Religion

Of Duct Tape and Dementia by Elizabeth Cunningham

I’ve climbed on a stool (which I swore I wouldn’t do again after having a bad fall while helping a friend paint a bathroom ceiling) and up onto the washing machine. A cabinet door just above has come unhinged (not unlike this author). I have considered unscrewing it and taking it off, have located the proper screwdriver, but the screw will not budge, no matter how I contort my body in this small space. If I can’t get the cabinet door to stop flopping open, I will not be able to load the washer. My hope and salvation is…duct tape. So my husband stands holding the cabinet door more (or less) still while I tear off and attach pieces of duct tape, which will more (or less) serve my purpose, till someone more skilled can do a real repair.

“Do you remember,” I ask, “when I used to say, Douglas, fix it! Whatever needed fixing.”

“No, I don’t remember.” His response to most such queries. “I don’t remember that at all.”

One-In-A-Million by Marcia Mount Shoop

Today I am fully vaccinated. It’s been two weeks since I got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine. The day after I got the vaccine was the day the New York Times headline read, “Johnson & Johnson Vaccinations Paused After Rare Clotting Cases Emerge.” People told me not to worry, “it happens to only one in a million people.”

That “one-in-a-million” argument isn’t what calmed me down. The “one-in-a-million” odds had already struck once in our household over the pandemic when my husband was diagnosed with a rare kind of cancer. A one-in-a-million kind of cancer. And to top it off, it was his second cancer diagnosis during the pandemic. He turned 51 years old this past August and has spent most of the pandemic either waiting for treatment, receiving treatment, or in recovery from treatment. A lot of the year he has been and continues to be in considerable pain and discomfort.

Between the Newness of Life and the Slipping of Moments By Christie Havey Smith

The following is a guest post written by Christie Havey Smith, M.A., a Spiritual Director and a mother of three. She teaches spiritual writing workshops in the community and through Loyola Marymount University’s extension program. She has been a Youth Minister for St. Monica’s parish community and a volunteer at WriteGirl in Los Angeles, an organization dedicated to empowering teen girls through creative writing.

I come from a long line of amazing women. I had two great aunts with impassioned spirits. In neither case did that passion find its way into marriage, but instead found romance in literature and in travels; they married poetry, theology and their gardens. They gave birth to ideas and lavished love upon their sister and her children.

Their sister is my grandmother. She was widowed when her three children were still small, and she rose above every kind of challenge a needy mother can face. She is now ninety-five years old. Her sisters and friends have passed away, and she is the last of the greats of her generation. She is the Elizabeth Taylor of her community; when she dies it will be the end of an era. And it will leave quite a hole in our family. Continue reading “Between the Newness of Life and the Slipping of Moments By Christie Havey Smith”