He was himself

Everyone loved Mr M.  As we would affectionately say in Ireland; “ he was himself”. I met Mr M when I began to work in a Butterfly home as a nurse 8 years ago.

What was it that made him stand out in my memory and soften my heart?

Maybe it was the day he singlehandedly managed to pull from the wall the fully functioning Irish bar and stand back to admire his work!

Or when he turned the dining room chair upside down and proceeded to climb on top of it and get his legs so entangled that it took 3 staff to help him out.

Perhaps it was the way he would sit for an hour at the “architect’s office” we created for him in the living room, completely absorbed in rolling up the sheets of paper over and over again as if they were his precious drawings.

For me it was very personal and brought me right back to my childhood. The first day I entered his bedroom, I noticed sketches on the wall of a church and realised he was the architect of the church where I was baptised, made my communion and attended weekly masses with my family. I understood he would have known my father who oversaw the fundraising for the church and who died when I was very young. I instantly felt a special connection with Mr M as he was a similar generation to my father. Being around him blew my heart wide open.

He was in the repetitive experience of his dementia when I met him first and he rarely used words, just sounds. He hummed as he went about his business. He didn’t need words as his eyes said it all.  Mr M liked to move, to explore, to investigate and his curious mind that served him so well in his career as an architect was still very much present.  

Mr M taught me the true meaning of being present and that feelings matter most.

I remember one particular day as I was writing my nursing notes, hearing a banging noise and I looked up to see him pushing a chair and banging it into the wall and I could see he was distressed. So, I offered him my hand to hold, I invited him to sit with me on the couch and I began to play his favorite music ‘Percy French’.  I noticed his breathing began to calm down, his voice became softer, he held my eye contact for a moment and said, “ This is lovely,” I had a sense that whatever he was trying to push away- perhaps an emotional pain – had been replaced by a feeling of being seen, accepted and loved.

I was fortunate enough to be on duty when we sat with Mr M as he had his final moments with us before he passed away. He was surrounded by his loving family and precious life story items including sketches of his beloved buildings he created. All the staff who knew and loved him dearly came in to say their last goodbyes. In that moment I felt very grateful to be part of a Butterfly home where people are allowed to be themselves and can live and die in a way that acknowledges their uniqueness.