She Feeds Our Elders

Article by Matt Gannon, Communications Coordinator & Trainer with Oregon Care Home Consulting & Training.

At 4:30 a.m. in the dead of winter, the alarm goes off to announce the beginning of another long day. This is a day when nearly 70 people will receive breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks cooked from scratch at the hands of the management and talent of my wife, the dietary manager / head chef of our local memory care community.

​The first step, the shower, helps to wake up the brain and the body which is still somewhat sore from last week's grind, and the soul - with warm water the soul awakens to a calling, a passion to serve gracefully, and all the work that comes with it. 

She now dons the uniform, and steps into the shoes still damp from doing dishes with the crew three nights before. This happens regularly due to being short-staffed. She attacks the dishes with the others to make sure everyone can leave together to go home and no one is left behind.

​One of her shoes has a crack in the bottom from hours upon hours of being on her feet and so much water spilling into them over time...she plans to get a new pair of shoes, but you know, life is busy, and there is work to do and people depending on her - who the hell has the time?

...the soul awakens to a calling, a passion to serve gracefully, and all the work that comes with it. 

A work week of three back-to-back 12.5-hour shifts, and a 6-hour final day to cap it off - of grinding and a labor of love is about to kick off. This has been happening for nearly four years on a full-time schedule, and she's never late and never leaves early. The first year was while Covid was in full effect, a year with perfect attendance, another year with maybe one sick day (essentially unheard-of in long-term care), and finally, she was able to reach a point of permitting herself to begin taking vacations after two years of blood, sweat, and tears.

She rises on a Monday morning to begin it all once again.

She feeds our elders.

She walks quietly downstairs with the dogs to start the coffee and let them outside so they can get their fill of the morning air and do what dogs do. She prepares breakfast for our three dogs, two cats, a guinea pig, and a bearded dragon. She dishes their bowls and whispers lovely things to each one, but not before administering insulin to our geriatric and diabetic cat.
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She runs out to the car to start the heater so she doesn't freeze on her way to work.

Now, it is time to prepare our kids' lunches for school, put fresh water in the pets' bowls, and put dog cartoons on TV so the dogs can finish their sleeping on the couch with full bellies in the living room next to the Christmas tree - while listening to Bluey, or some such show, before the rest of us wake. 

​She bundles up in her winter coat, grabs her coffee, and tells herself, "You got this, and you know why you are going to go and grind once again - you know why you are doing this. Deep breath....let's go." She goes out to the bitterly cold morning air and falling rain, and into the car. The house is still asleep, the sun has not yet risen, Christmas lights twinkle in the foggy rain from each home, and she's on her way.​

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You got this, and you know why you are going to go and grind once again - you know why you are doing this....

It's a short drive to the memory care community in our town, where there are elders who live out the remaining chapter of their lives. This is your mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, great-grandma, great-grandpa, neighbor, the people you always saw at church, who may have worked in your schools, built or maintained your streets and bridges, and who played a part in the community and society of your town.

People who lived full lives - who've raised children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, served their country and did it all the best way they knew how. And, now, in their later years, fate has delivered - dementia. This has landed them a residence and room at the memory care building and a seat at my wife's tables. These are our elders, and my wife, our children's mom, feeds them.

The time from the alarm waking her to pulling up to the parking lot is barely enough to prepare herself to answer the usual questions: who will show up today to work and who won't? Has that resident I love so much and who tells me she loves my food passed away since I was last there? What condition is my kitchen in and how far back will it set me to have to pick up the pieces of what someone else was supposed to do? Many unknowns, but one thing is known well -  the chances of walking into what "should be" is a rare and mostly non-existent occurrence. 

​No matter, people are depending on her, and the residents need to eat. She tells herself, "You can do this, and no matter what happens, they need me so they can eat, so here I am."​

Fighting back the emotions of facing the hard grind all over again, likely having to do it short-staffed (double the work), she stops for a moment and thinks of some of the brave, bleeding hearts who do work there, have worked there, and the good work and care they provide - her staff who she inspires with her unwavering standards and integrity to do the right thing always (and to wash their damn hands!), even when no one is watching because the residents deserve it. They look up to her and care about her and make it a point to let her know so, and she finds the strength to keep on going and do what needs to be done - she feeds our elders. ​

...she inspires with her unwavering standards and integrity to do the right thing always...because the residents deserve it.

I worked as a dietary assistant, activities assistant, and certified nursing assistant in memory care for nearly a decade. I then worked as an administrator for memory care for some years. My private caregiving practice also led me to visit and serve my clients in many memory care communities across the Metropolitan area for over two decades. I know memory care and I know dementia care - it is my life's mission and passion to serve our elders who live with dementia.

The doors are locked, they can't get out, and people are losing who they are and what they have as they try to make any type of sense of their day-to-day life in memory care. To say the work can be hard is an understatement. It is not because of the residents who make it hard, they make it all worthwhile in fact. Rather, it is the lack of consistency and longevity of a quality team unit that gets in the way. It is certainly not for everyone. ​​

For anyone to last even one year as a full-time worker is admirable, two years means you probably have a gift and are doing the work you are built to do, three years and you are as tough as they come, four years and the toll your emotions and body take have you questioning if you've been stretched too far at this point. This is one of the tragic truths of the work. And if a person decides this is enough then it is not because they are anything but someone who has learned they must listen to their heart and care for themselves, before it's too late.

You eventually come to a place of recognizing, "I have made a difference." You are left with flash vivid memories of the many people you've served, you've touched in a meaningful way to ease their pain or suffering, who you made smile at the taste of your food, who you've won over from the taste of your food, and who felt a sense of peace and comfort by your presence and the overall satisfaction of a yummy meal. Most importantly, they feel recognized because you showed up and you showed care. You know you've made an impact, a difference, and the memories will carry with you throughout the rest of your life.

Most importantly, they feel recognized because you showed up and you showed care. 

Taking care of yourself to better take care of others is talked about in this game, but put into action - training, mentoring, and support to see to it everyone can do this - this is not reality. So, instead, you have to save yourself to take care of yourself and you can only depend on yourself to do it, and lean on those who love you, to make sure your self-care is strong and true. And, wherever that leads you is the path you must be walking - even if it means your time in that particular place comes to an end at some point in the future.

When you care deeply about the work it can hurt deeply. It is not hard to care for the people, it is all of the rest of the crap that usually gets in the way. My wife has shown so much more than mere strength. She is a model of a giving heart of service, standing up for what is right, and holding people accountable - all of this to make sure the elders are fed.

What she teaches our children through the work she does is a lesson that is second to none in this world. We love her for it, we are proud of her, she is strong and brave and caring, and willing - all necessary traits the residents need in their support. She has these traits no doubt, and has exemplified this time and time again, day after day, seasons after season, year after year - she feeds our elders. ​

...we are proud of her, she is strong and brave and caring, and willing - all necessary traits the residents need in their support. 

The day is done, and she arrives home to our menagerie, her family, who couldn't be happier to see her, knowing the work she's done, the differences she's made, the fatigue and sometimes heartache she feels, and the quality and taste of all she's put out in the work day to so many.

​How fortunate are we all, that she feeds our elders?​

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Author

Matt Gannon is Communications Coordinator & Trainer with Oregon Care Home Consulting & Training.

​Email Matt.