Being semi–retired, I often have spare time on my hands, so last year I started to volunteer through the Alzheimer’s Society as a Dementia Friend. I had a career of dealing with society in all its facets, so this seemed ideal for a people-person like me.
Once I was trained-up, I was introduced to Ron and his delightful wife, Mary. They had been together for more than 40 years and it soon became clear that Mary’s life revolved entirely around caring for her husband. She was always very friendly, cheerful and never complained but, as the months passed by, I could see she was under pressure.
Ron was a fit man in his early 70s. His short- and long-term memory were completely shot but he could go out with company, so every Tuesday we would do things like go for a walk, drink coffee and eat cake, play a round of putting or go tenpin bowling. Ron was once a professional sportsman and he still had it. He would change from right to left hand and still beat me.
I always enjoyed spending time with Ron and while it wouldn’t matter if I took him to the same place each week, I felt I owed it to him to vary our activities. We have had some wonderful times and the trip home was always fun. I’d put some music on and Ron was off; Sinatra, Neil Diamond, Rod Stewart – you name it and it would become a sing-along ... and he knew every word.
Spatial awareness was Ron’s biggest issue but I never had any concerns, until one day at the last hole on the pitch and putt course. I turned round and saw that Ron had lined up the wrong way and was about to hit the ball towards a group of players. I quickly learnt my lesson.
Mary had a good family support system, but her caring responsibility was 24/7, which was telling. Occasionally I would pass on my observations to the line manager at the Alzheimer’s Society so they could contact Mary to offer help or advice. It didn’t take long for me to realise how important it was to give Mary those few hours of downtime and there was one particular Tuesday when I realised the difference it made.
I needed to get my daughter a birthday present so I took Ron to the local chocolatier. While choosing a gift, I thought of Mary and bought some chocolates for her on behalf of Ron. I told him what I was doing, but he instantly forgot. When we arrived home, as expected, Mary answered the door. Ron walked in, chocolates in hand, and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. Mary said: “Wow, where did that come from.”
While dementia had not affected Ron’s singing voice or ability to beat me at any sport he put his hand too, it had claimed some of his emotion. He had not shown Mary affection for a number of years.
It was a lovely moment. It was as if the chocolate shopping had triggered something in Ron that had never gone away – it was just lost. Without doubt it was my honour and privilege to help this family in a small way.
Ron and Mary are pseudonyms and other identifying features have been changed.
The day I made a difference is the Guardian Voluntary Sector Network’s series that showcases the work of people involved with charities. If you have a story you want to share email voluntarysectornetwork@theguardian.com with a short summary of your experience.
