Bringing The Family Into the Journey - A Mindful Approach to Dementia & Psychedelics
You would think I would be ruminating about leaving Henry in an assisted living situation for two weeks. Instead, all I can feel is exhaustion. I arrive at our daughter’s in Toronto late at night. I fall into one of the deepest sleeps ever.
Before leaving my husband of over forty years in assisted living in Mexico, where we had been considering such an eventuality—though not so abruptly as described in the previous blog—I wanted to be sure to let our two daughters and Henry’s siblings know the current situation. In order for me to go to Toronto on my own and for Henry to choose to stay in a warmer climate where he could be outdoors and swim every day, Henry made the choice to stay. That meant going into an assisted living situation, albeit temporarily—but who knew? That is a lot to take in when there had been no warning, especially for Henry’s siblings.
The family knew Henry had Alzheimer’s. Our daughters had seen the decline on their recent visits. But Henry’s siblings, on the contrary, had not followed the progress at the same depth of understanding as our daughters. How to help them process what had just happened?
The email I wrote around midnight the first night I stayed with Henry in the assisted living pavilion, Pabellón Alegría, as it is known (Happy Pavilion), described the steps leading up to the current situation. His sister called the next day and could hear for herself Henry’s positivity when she spoke to him—perhaps some of his confusion as well.
His brother called Henry after my departure. Henry recounted to me that he had explained his intent to access his right to medical aid in dying (MAID) after a final trip to India, a Sacred Agreement we made and shared in a previous blog. His brother had learned of that through my email and the invitation to read the blog before it was published on the website. Hearing this from Henry, without me around, may have reached his brother in a more direct way. Lots to take in. I knew there was something deeply aware in Henry’s heart and mind to want to share with his brother his own heartfelt desire—one which put Henry in a place of peace. I also recognized the strength of clarity and focus needed to put this in words and then share in a conversation with one of the nearest and dearest people in his life.
When I spoke to Henry later that day, he told me that his brother would support Henry’s decision to access MAID. Phew. That’s nice to hear, I thought. I myself struggled with this for more than a year, a true moral dilemma. Then over many months, through conversations with Henry, our children, and others; watching compelling documentaries, including The Last Ecstatic Days; hearing personal stories of being present when a loved one exercised that right (legal in Vermont but not for dementia); and during my training as an End-Of-Life Doula—slowly but surely, I came to a deeper understanding. Dying with dignity is a right to be accessed. Each person should have the right to make their own choice. The dualistic world is just that; and we are, in essence, pure love and energy without form.
I continue to process the possibility of MAID and have written about it in a previous blog. Henry’s brother, however, said that he himself did not agree with medical aid in dying for himself—at least that is what Henry shared with me. His brother had not been part of Henry’s queries into MAID that started over a year ago. Those queries actually resulted in Henry signing up for DIGNITAS in Switzerland. No matter.
What I learned in the following days was the importance of keeping family in the loop in order to better feel and understand the journey Henry was on—that all of us are now a part of. It is a journey full of surprises, no clear answers, and an uncertain future—at least for the following months ahead.
At key times, I had been informing Henry’s nearest and dearest about his progress; in other words, his decline. Since they had not gone through the same process over many months—in fact, years—like I had, it felt like I was shocking them with this update and new information. That’s when I urged our daughters to be in direct contact with their dad, and I asked his brother and sister to call him once or twice a week and speak to him directly. I started a joint WhatsApp group and messaging group.
It was like looking through a kaleidoscope that someone had turned a notch—all of a sudden there were shared discoveries. We all were experiencing an ever-changing present moment as it presented itself—slightly different for each one of us and different each time we looked. It was a kaleidoscope turning its prisms of light in all directions, creating new patterns of awareness and even beauty.
Awareness and beauty are part of the path of the journey. When our hearts and minds are open, there are always life’s miracles. A miracle of an ever-expanding sense of love and beauty, and ever-expanding awareness. The more we move out of fear, the more the heart and mind shut down proportionally. As the Buddha said, the fourth Noble Truth is that we will all die; old age, sickness, and death present themselves. Walking this path with Henry is to accept this with a heart of gratitude and bring awareness to the journey—blessings and beauty follow. And so it has been.
I am en route back to Mexico. I will be joining Henry tomorrow. For the last week, I have not had a clear indication if he wants to return to our beautiful homestead in Vermont with its inspiring view, gardens, and pond, and an ashram-like straw-bale home designed by our dear friend and Tibetan architect, based on Vastu principles. Our daughters are not sure if he wants to stay in Mexico or not. His siblings are not sure of his decision either. I will arrive and let the decision get clearer. Either way—I am open to whichever scenario becomes more apparent.
As I write this, I have received a WhatsApp message from my Toronto daughter: “Maybe it’s not about what he (dad) says but for us to truly listen to what he wants.”
BINGO.
To truly listen. I have learned to be a better listener, to not know all the answers, nor be in control, nor always think I know what’s right. Sound familiar?
I consider this shift in me to be a blessing. Being more gentle, kinder, and trusting life more wholeheartedly. A softer, more vulnerable part of me, hitherto hidden, is now revealed. A fuller beauty now shines bright. Maybe this is Henry’s lasting legacy of how I will now be in the world going forward. If so, it is a precious gift.
Back to the mindful contemplation of listening… How often do we truly listen? Do we even listen to ourselves? Do we/I give space to listen to others?
Mindfulness practice is a constant way to listen by first calming down the monkey mind. I even describe this in one of the first popular children’s books on mindfulness, Mindful Monkey, Happy Panda. I am proud of this book, my first published in the USA. It was published by the Buddhist press, Wisdom Publications.
I have also come to understand that mindful microdosing can also bring about more acute listening to what lies deeper within… the place that is hard to listen to because there is so much chatter, rumination, and preoccupation with daily life or emotional turmoil. High-dose journeys also have the potential. They get way beyond the monkey mind. What is usually reported when people review their high-dose psychedelic journey is the realization and, oftentimes, embodied knowing that they are loved. People report experiencing self-love, sometimes for the very first time. In other words, unconditional love. Another positive outcome of a high dose psychedelic journey is people may experience more openness, as reported by the ground-breaking research of Dr. Katherine MacLean at Johns Hopkins. With openness comes a greater feeling of connection.
Self-love, love, unconditional love, openness, connection… all beyond time and space. It is the murmur of the universe. It is the heartbeat of creation. It is the life force in all living things, seen and unseen. It is what is potentially generated every day in all we do, in all we offer, in every moment of life.
As Henry moves, knowingly, closer to his choice to die with dignity, this living force of unconditional love takes on an exponential force. I can feel it stirring within me with its melting into trust and loving-kindness. I can feel it in Henry as his peacefulness and empathy grow. And because it is unconditional, it is without attachment—even to the physical form.
- Lauren Alderfer, PhD.
