Joy in Truth

 This morning on my walk with the dogs I passed my elderly neighbour, Miss Theresa. Her real name is Anne. That’s the thing in the Caribbean; everyone has a given name and a name everyone calls them. 

Miss Theresa was dressed in a bright green, orange, and white dress. She was wearing a beige sunhat. And she was sitting on the lounger she always sits on. But today she was with her daughter. I haven’t met this daughter yet. Although I suspect she is the sister Miss Theresa keeps referring to when, on occasion, I stop on my way by and we chat – me in the car, and she on her driveway.

She asks me how the family is, and because of the dress, I ask Miss Theresa if she is going to church. She tells me she will be leaving soon. Barbara, who is sitting behind her so Miss Theresa can’t see her face, shakes her head “no” at me.  I know this. Miss Theresa has often told me she will be going home soon, and sometimes I see suitcases out front. But the suitcases come and go from the steps. 

“Where are you going?” I ask. My eyes reach Barbara’s, a silent acknowledgement passes between us. “Home,” Miss Theresa tells me. I have heard about her home. How she has neighbours she can see from her gate. How one girl has a girlfriend who never lets her leave the house  - “I didn’t know she went that way” Miss Theresa told me, shaking her head. And how she has known this girl from small, when her mother used to live in that same house with all of her children. I get the sense Miss Theresa had people around her who cared.

And now she is here, with her children. Getting ready to go back to a home that, for all I know, doesn’t exist. Not for her, anyway. I tell her I will miss her, and Barbara smiles. “You don’t have to miss me” Miss Theresa says, and proceeds to tell me that once I take one plane and follow these simple directions I will be able to find her quite easily. She pauses, and Barbara leans towards her. “In Granada,” Miss Theresa adds. I tell her I’m leaving next week too, to see my mom. She wishes me a good flight, and sends me a blessing as I start walking again.

I know she will be sitting right there when I am back in a few weeks.

As the dogs lead the way home I wonder about truth, and which truth - whose truth - is important, and why. Why do we struggle so with who is right? And does it always matter? In this case it was easy. I let Miss Theresa’s words lead the conversation, and I followed. I took my cues from her reality. I have heard that is what one should do with people who have Dementia and Alzheimers. But with my mother, it’s not so easy…her truth is often difficult and inconvenient – as perhaps Miss Theresa’s is to Barbara. I’m not sure how often she watches her pack, or how she convinces her to stay.

 But then, we all have different truths. This is not relegated to memory loss or cognitive decline. Perspectives, lived experiences, identity, bias – they change what we see and what we know. They affect our perception and understanding. Which means there can be different and multiple truths held about the same thing, event or person. 

What stood out for me so clearly this morning is that joining Miss Theresa in her truth allowed us to have a conversation, not a debate. I wonder how often I offer this same grace to others, and marvel at what my now two connections to Alzheimer’s are teaching me. When I listen to what Miss Theresa is saying, what I hear is that she misses her home, that there was a sense of community, and that perhaps she misses her independence. Those are the deeper truths that would elude me if I don’t hear the first.

So it is, I imagine, with everyone. That underneath the truths that may be so different from ours or what we know or understand that we may not want to entertain or believe them, there are other truths we may be able to connect to. Deeper truths, that make the ones on the surface less important. Or give them context and help shape the person we see.

I wonder if I listen just as carefully and patiently to my own mother (and to others around me) as I am trying to do with Miss Theresa, what underlying truths I will uncover. And how those may connect us – even if the surface truths are different, inconvenient or troubling.