Every day. Without fail.

I learned to speak. In few. But meaningful words. When talking to Jeanne. And others with dementia. Long, rambling sentences didn’t do the trick. One finds ways to get to the point. Without wasting words. And by modulating one’s tone of voice. In ways that sound soothing. Rather than harried or upset.  Better to convey good vibes. Pretty much the same way. That I talk to my cat Marcello. Yes, Marcello understands me. And I understand him. We speak the same language. Often in a heartfelt manner. Marcello grasps the meaning of single words. Such as ‘no.’ And the tone in which I express my ‘no.’ I learned that Jeanne had a wonderful one-track mind. And that it was important. To keep her on a single track.  But always. Always. In a loving manner. So important. To make Jeanne feel loved. Even when she was momentarily belligerent. When she couldn’t help herself.  I was there. To help. To genuinely care. Jeanne got the message. Because I learned to speak her limited language.  In much the same way.  That Marcello and I have chats. Every day. Without fail. --Jim Broede