June 19
June 19
There was no telling Karen Satterfield Brand what to do. But if she loved you, she might do it anyway.
Unlike many who were joining on June 1st to remember Karen, I came to know her later in her life. I don’t quite remember now how Jason found me but I remember vividly my first meeting with Karen in August of 2016. She may not have had her arms physically across her chest, but her demeanor made clear she was not excited to have me there and I couldn’t leave too soon. While she was quite clear that she was “just fine” the fingers of dementia were wrapping themselves around her ability to recognize what was clear to her family. Jason and I had discussed focusing on having someone join her for her doctor’s appointments, just to make sure she was getting the care she needed, and although it was clear to me in our first meeting that while she absolutely understood that her family felt she would benefit from having someone go to her doctor’s appointments with her, she was only willing to try it out because she loved them. And because Vinga seemed to like me (also known as the Vinga test – dog treats helped).
She had just “retired” from her counselling practice, and while I didn’t know Karen as a wife, a mother, or a colleague, my experience of her ability to compassionately show interest in every one I met with her over the next 8 years, to actively listen to them, whether she was processing every detail, was one of her superpowers.
She loved telling me about her mother, and her role with the Girl Scouts – I was a Girl Scout, and Karen appreciated that. She loved telling me about her boarding school experiences, and her friend, Joan. She could wax eloquently about her beloved Vinga and her horses. Yes, the stories were often told more than once, but always with the enthusiasm of the first time. And to the credit of the people in her life who loved her, I never heard Jason, Adam, or Max tell her they’d heard the stories before, even as whenever there was a story re-told, yet again, I knew that they worried about her alone in her home.
And yet that was always where she wanted to be, in her home with her Vinga. But what really made me happy was the day she said to me, “I like you. I think we should have lunch together.” And we did – a few weeks later at the Mexican place around the corner. Out of her physical comfort zone, but never out of her social comfort zone, she didn’t know a stranger. She had something gracious to say to every server that day, and every nursing assistant, every doctor we ever encountered after that.
I know that Karen wasn’t as easy with everyone as she was with me in the more limited relationship she and I had with each other, although on occasion I witnessed her lips pursed, her brow furrowed with one brow raised that was the clear indication she wasn’t happy with me or something I’d said. Jason and Adam, Paula and Rhonda, and Max and I had many conversations about how to honor her freedom without endangering her. I am firmly convinced when she failed the driving test I had arranged, she didn’t like me so much. But then she simply conveniently forgot about it, and I think that was less her condition, and more just who she was. But she always pointed out stop lights and turn signals when we were off to an appointment together, almost as if to remind me that while she wasn’t behind the wheel, she certainly still could be and would be just fine, thank you very much. But she had come to love me in her own way, so she tolerated being driven, even as much as she loved to drive.
I have deep appreciation that I earned her trust, that she let me into her life, and by extension to Jason, Paula, Adam, Rhonda and Max’s lives as well.
Perhaps one of the greatest gifts she gave me is when we talked, sometimes often, about what It would mean to lay one’s body aside. She could tell me in practical terms what mattered to her about this celebration you’re having today. But she always smiled when she talked about going to the Great Mysterious, a term I have chosen now for myself.
I will miss her – the mischievous glint in her eye, her compassionate love for animals, her no holds barred love for her family, her fierce determination and commitment to her own path, and her absolute delight when we would sing ‘60’s songs together on the radio. I’m quite sure she has taken her superpowers with her to the Great Mysterious, and she is as loved there as she was here.
Unlike many who were joining on June 1st to remember Karen, I came to know her later in her life. I don’t quite remember now how Jason found me but I remember vividly my first meeting with Karen in August of 2016. She may not have had her arms physically across her chest, but her demeanor made clear she was not excited to have me there and I couldn’t leave too soon. While she was quite clear that she was “just fine” the fingers of dementia were wrapping themselves around her ability to recognize what was clear to her family. Jason and I had discussed focusing on having someone join her for her doctor’s appointments, just to make sure she was getting the care she needed, and although it was clear to me in our first meeting that while she absolutely understood that her family felt she would benefit from having someone go to her doctor’s appointments with her, she was only willing to try it out because she loved them. And because Vinga seemed to like me (also known as the Vinga test – dog treats helped).
She had just “retired” from her counselling practice, and while I didn’t know Karen as a wife, a mother, or a colleague, my experience of her ability to compassionately show interest in every one I met with her over the next 8 years, to actively listen to them, whether she was processing every detail, was one of her superpowers.
She loved telling me about her mother, and her role with the Girl Scouts – I was a Girl Scout, and Karen appreciated that. She loved telling me about her boarding school experiences, and her friend, Joan. She could wax eloquently about her beloved Vinga and her horses. Yes, the stories were often told more than once, but always with the enthusiasm of the first time. And to the credit of the people in her life who loved her, I never heard Jason, Adam, or Max tell her they’d heard the stories before, even as whenever there was a story re-told, yet again, I knew that they worried about her alone in her home.
And yet that was always where she wanted to be, in her home with her Vinga. But what really made me happy was the day she said to me, “I like you. I think we should have lunch together.” And we did – a few weeks later at the Mexican place around the corner. Out of her physical comfort zone, but never out of her social comfort zone, she didn’t know a stranger. She had something gracious to say to every server that day, and every nursing assistant, every doctor we ever encountered after that.
I know that Karen wasn’t as easy with everyone as she was with me in the more limited relationship she and I had with each other, although on occasion I witnessed her lips pursed, her brow furrowed with one brow raised that was the clear indication she wasn’t happy with me or something I’d said. Jason and Adam, Paula and Rhonda, and Max and I had many conversations about how to honor her freedom without endangering her. I am firmly convinced when she failed the driving test I had arranged, she didn’t like me so much. But then she simply conveniently forgot about it, and I think that was less her condition, and more just who she was. But she always pointed out stop lights and turn signals when we were off to an appointment together, almost as if to remind me that while she wasn’t behind the wheel, she certainly still could be and would be just fine, thank you very much. But she had come to love me in her own way, so she tolerated being driven, even as much as she loved to drive.
I have deep appreciation that I earned her trust, that she let me into her life, and by extension to Jason, Paula, Adam, Rhonda and Max’s lives as well.
Perhaps one of the greatest gifts she gave me is when we talked, sometimes often, about what It would mean to lay one’s body aside. She could tell me in practical terms what mattered to her about this celebration you’re having today. But she always smiled when she talked about going to the Great Mysterious, a term I have chosen now for myself.
I will miss her – the mischievous glint in her eye, her compassionate love for animals, her no holds barred love for her family, her fierce determination and commitment to her own path, and her absolute delight when we would sing ‘60’s songs together on the radio. I’m quite sure she has taken her superpowers with her to the Great Mysterious, and she is as loved there as she was here.
