Rule #1: All Trucks Are Glorious

“Look at that truck,” my father says every time we ride together in a car. “It’s glorious.” He could be talking about any truck, but usually it’s the giant semis that make him the most happy. “I’ve never seen a truck like that in my whole life,” he’ll often say. “This is the first time. Wow.”

When he started noticing trucks was about the time he also started noticing trees. Trees are also glorious. And big clouds. And dogs of any size. And children. And anything that sparkles. In short, he was noticing a lot, and I chalked it up to his Alzheimer’s and his not getting out much.

Turns out that trucks really are pretty darn incredible. When I took the time to really look at a semi, all decked out from grille to cargo doors in small orange lights, immense and loud, I wondered: how had I missed this? Trucks are glorious. I felt like even though I’d seen about a gazillion trucks in my lifetime, I was finally really seeing one for the first time. Wow.

Rule #2: Deep Seeing Is Hard Work

I’d like to say that from that day forward, I saw the world differently. The truth is, I find it very difficult to maintain deep seeing. If everything is always new and amazing and we had to stop to appreciate it with the same ardor that my dad has for trucks, we’d get nothing done. I’m not just talking about the time it takes to do that kind of seeing, but think of the emotions involved. Think of how exhausting it would be to see like that all day long.

That’s when I understood a little more about what it must be like for my dad to experience every truck as the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. And every tree, dog, and child. No wonder it gets hard to negotiate that world. That’s got to be exhausting.

Rule #3: Get a Good Guide

At about the same time–this was maybe 10 years ago when he was still in the early stages–we took him shopping for groceries. We were covering all parts of the store at once, power shopping. And then somebody remembered that Dad was with us. But where? We got frantic real fast.

I found him at the front of the store at the flower stand, staring deeply at a pink Gerber daisy. The first thing I wanted to say was “Pop, where’ve you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.” But he held out this flower and said to me, “Kate, look at this: this flower is a miracle.” And we looked together at that flower for what seemed the longest time.

I wanted to be in that space with him forever. I thought that maybe there was a secret there, something that we could discover together. Maybe an answer.

But then he was on to the tuna can. And then ground chuck. And in the car on the way home, he marveled at the length of the stop light. He said he had never waited so long for a stop light in all his life. Wow.

For someone without dementia, everything can’t always be incredible. As well people, we need to help our loved one navigate this world of wonder, which means for most of the time, we need to be outside their space. Along the way, they can point out the occasional truck to remind us that the whole world is indeed a glorious place.