Activities & Wellness

Of the many timeless forms of universal human expression, play tops the list, eliciting the brightest experiences of joy and abandon in the present moment. As a caregiver for a loved one with dementia, play can help infuse otherwise routine days with laughter and fun. But don’t just take our word for it; empirical research supports the benefits of play for people living with neurodegenerative conditions. According to a study published in The Gerontologist journal, for example, “Play is not used to infantilize and trivialize people living with dementia but as a way to explore potential for expression, meaning-making, and relationship-building in later life.”

Sarina’s life once revolved around the great outdoors. Since her retirement, she had spent most of her days gardening, going for long walks, and attending Tai Chi classes in the park near her house. Since her stroke, however, everything changed. Sarina was no longer able to get outside and do the activities she loved with ease. While being in a wheelchair certainly didn’t confine her to her home, she found it more difficult to enjoy the outdoor activities she once did.

My grandmother’s favorite season was spring. When I was little, she would always tell me that spring was a time of inspiration, when the world seems to breathe new life, hope, and a little bit of magic into the world. As a kid, I truly felt that magic because my grandmother taught me to admire spring’s beauty—from the bright blooming flowers to the newly hatched baby birds snuggled safely in their nests. As I got older, however, I lost sight of a lot of the simple things that make the season so special, perhaps because my grandmother no longer remembers to remind me.

Barry was always very active throughout his life but when an accident landed him in a wheelchair permanently, things changed. For many years Barry spent most days in his home living a very sedentary and isolated life. Sadly, in that time, his mental and physical health began to decline. Thankfully, his daughter Elsa noticed and made it her mission to help him find his spark once again.

I was recently talking to Marla, who always had interesting ideas about travel, and she told me that it took her forever to realize that San Francisco was right on the water.

On his drive home from his aging father’s house, Jessie felt heavy. His father Stan was still living in the family home, and it was always a joy for Jessie to visit the little bungalow he grew up in. This time was different, though.

“Travel,” Marla told me one day when we were sitting down to eat lunch in the annex of Institute on Aging, “is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.”

When I cry, I experience two different kinds of tears. Either my tears flow like a fountain, cycling and recycling the same stale thoughts and emotions. Or my tears flow like a river, free and uninhibited and going somewhere. The first kind of experience is painful and strained, and I end up feeling just as tight and tense—or more so—when I finish crying as I did when I started. The second kind is painful too, but it offers the special space and vulnerability necessary to feel my emotions in all of their depth. This emotive experience doesn’t take the pain away; on the contrary, it helps me to feel the pain even more fully, and there’s a release that comes when I can be so present and compassionate for my own experience.