But first, you've gotta believe.

A woman named Sky wrote to me in January 2006 and said:

Jim, I used to believe that Alzheimer's patients just entered a "fantasy land" and if one just agreed with them on things then they would be blissfully happy, because they wouldn't know any better. Maybe that happens, I don't know. No one I have ever talked to other than you seem to think people with Alzheimer's live in a wonderful fantasy land they can enjoy. My dad is often scared and confused. He knows he should be able to fix things, but they only tear up....He knows he should be able to know what is going on, or know people, and it is devastating to him when he can't. He believes he should be able to drive and be independent and "people won't let him." I agree that talking to "dead people" is not harmful to them, and we don't need to argue with them on that. My dad has been talking some with my mother who died 34 years ago. I sometimes envy him that. But make no mistake, this is not a fun amusement park he has entered. --Sky


Here's my reply:

Sky, there is so very much positive fantasy that I see at Birchwood, the nursing home where Jeanne stays. Take Leona. I’ve appointed her director of happiness. And she takes the bit seriously. She goes around and tries to cheer up people. And she’s proud of it. And in the process, she cheers up herself. She feels useful. Ardeth comes down the hallway in her wheelchair, looking for her (long dead) brother Warren. And I talk to her about Warren. She loves Warren. And hey, I talk as if he’s very much alive. Because in Ardeth’s reality, he lives. I say, let her believe it. Because that makes Ardeth happy. And I praise so many, many of the residents to the sky. I talked about Frank recently. He died last week. Well, I used to joke with Frank. Made up stories. About him having a moonshine business, a distillery in the mop closet down the hall. Yes, fantasy. Fantasy used by me, in this instance, to stimulate Frank’s mind. His imagination. Make him laugh. And Frank saw the humor and the conviviality in the pretend world. That it’s all right to create a happy world. A funny world. I do this with Jeanne. And oh, so many others, at Birchwood. On a daily basis. It’s like magic. I can turn a seemingly sad situation into a happy one. I can make people think. That hey, the weather outside ain’t so bad. Sure, it’s cold. But hey, the sun is shining. Or look at those wonderful snowflakes. And the blanket of white snow. And breathe the crisp, fresh air. Even in a thunderstorm Jeanne and I venture out. In our ponchos. We make the best of bad situations. With the power of our minds. Even the dementia-afflicted mind. We find ways to make bad seem good. Yes, Sky, I enjoy my days at Birchwood. Maybe because I see a reality that inspires me. That makes me feel good. Makes me feel useful. Makes me feel alive. That’s what I try to do for Jeanne, and others. Make them feel alive. And happy. Even if that requires entering a fantasy world. Their fantasy. Or sometimes my fantasy. To me, Birchwood is a paradise. And I try to get others to see it that way, too. Tell me, who’s reality is real? Believe me, mine is real. I feel it. I savor it. Life is wonderful. Sky, you‘re invited into my reality. Into my world. But first, you've gotta believe. --Jim Broede