When Dementia Becomes a Spiritual Encounter
From Journal Entry 8/2025
I was sitting in my client's home, a
space I’ve grown so familiar with through the quiet rhythms of caregiving. If
you’ve ever cared for someone with dementia and aphasia, you know the specific
kind of heartbreak that comes with it…the way words become
"scrambled," or how a person’s thoughts seem to swim just out of
their reach before they can find the surface.
But on this day, the experience
shifted from the physical to the metaphysical.
Suddenly, I felt the unmistakable
presence of a man in the room. He wasn't just a "feeling"…it was a
weight, a personhood. He began to mumble, his speech broken and fragmented,
echoing the exact same aphasia that my client struggles with every day. The entity
seemed lost, caught in the same fog of confusion that has settled over my
client’s life.
Then, he reached out and touched my
arm.
In that moment, I didn't feel fear; I
felt a profound call to act. Without even thinking, I found myself singing
Amazing Grace. The melody filled the room, acting as a bridge where words had
failed. I prayed and made the Sign of the Cross…the Catholic gesture of
blessing and protection, enveloping that confused energy in a frequency of
peace.
Looking back on it, I can’t help but
feel that this entity was spiritually tied to my client.
Metaphysically, I believe I was
witnessing his soul "untethered." When the physical brain becomes a
fractured home due to illness, I believe the spirit sometimes steps out,
seeking the connection it can no longer find through human speech. That
"mumbling" spirit was his essence, trying to reach out to me from the
"between-world" he now inhabits.
In that thin space between caregiver
and patient, I realized that while dementia may scramble a person's words, it
cannot touch the language of the soul. Through prayer and song, we don't just
clear the air. We guide a wandering heart back to a place of rest.
Reflection
Questions for the Heart
Have you ever felt a
"presence" while caring for a loved one that seemed to reflect their
inner struggle rather than their outward reality? When words fail and logic
fades, what "soul languages"…like music, touch, or prayer have you
found that still reach the person you are caring for?
In moments of confusion or fear, how
do you ground yourself spiritually to remain a vessel of peace for your client
or loved one?
Could the "scrambled"
moments of aphasia be an invitation for us to listen with our spirits instead
of just our ears?
All my light and love,
Madison Meadows