Guest blogger Amy Stout knows a great deal about special needs parenting, thanks to her daughter Kylie who experiences autism. When Amy’s beloved grandma developed dementia, she learned that love can reach beyond special needs and make a deep connection. In part two of this series, Amy tells how her daughter and the little girl’s great-grandmother spent a lovely day together.

No Longer a Thief, Part 2

I knew that when we made the effort to introduce the two, my daughter would need to stay busy. I never take her anywhere without a well-packed activity bag. I also thought that my grandma might enjoy participating in the fun so I packed for two. The bag contained treasured favorite activities such as beads to coax onto pipe cleaners, coloring, painting, play dough, and various other activities. I tossed in a few snacks and drinks and we were ready for our family adventure.

From the moment my beloved yet “new” grandma laid her eyes on my daughter she was enchanted by her every move. I stood back and watched Grandma beam with pleasure and excitement. She wasn’t quite sure who this little girl was, but she loved her all the same.

We found a table and set up our activity stations. Grandma eagerly participated in the activities and though she was slower and her response times delayed, she gave every activity a try but most of all she loved just being with her great-granddaughter and absorbing her youth and innocence.

How I will treasure the memories of Grandma’s hands. They were wrinkled and worn with experience and years of loving on her family. Now, they were clumsy, shaky, and lost— unsure of what to do or how to be useful. I observed the two people who I loved dearly and took mental snapshots of these precious moments that would be snatched from us all too soon. I watched as Grandma’s hands brushed the hands of my daughter who was just beginning in life, and I watched as my grandma held on as long as my daughter would allow.

The irony of their social dance did not escape my notice. It didn’t matter that my daughter couldn’t make eye contact with Grandma. It wasn’t important to my daughter that Grandma couldn’t remember her name. For this moment in time they were secret friends in a pretend tree house giggling and creating and just enjoying the presence of one another. It didn’t matter that they were scores of years apart in age or that their social skills were terribly lacking. They had found common ground in shared activities and simply being friends. The lack of details and specifics that had built walls between so many others and had caused them to fall away were the very glue that made this new, beautiful friendship work.

The absence of judgment and expectation was freeing for these two friends from different generations. They could make up stories or speak in echolalia and neither one of them was offended, impatient, or annoyed. In fact, it became part of the dialogue. Their nodding of heads in agreement was a beautiful respite from the too-often-present shaking heads of disapproval.

The staff marveled, and everyone who observed this exchange, from nurses, to other family, to visitors coming to spend time with other residents, were charmed and touched to witness this precious new friendship bloom. I was simply the interpreter, the narrator, and tried to make my presence as invisible as I could to not interrupt the beautiful thing that was happening before my eyes.

There were many other shared moments and while the friendship was nurtured and grew deeper it became increasingly more difficult with each visit to continue with the same activities. The hugs lasted longer, the photos were taken and the two friends were oblivious to what the rest of us agonizingly knew was coming.

When my grandma passed away on a cold January day, I not only lost a beloved mentor and icon in my world; a once strong and confident woman who taught me so much by her example and faith and who loved me in the worst of times, but my loss was much greater! I felt it deeply when my 5-year-old daughter lost one of the most precious friendships she will ever experience in her world of autism—A friendship based on charm and whimsy, no expectations or judgment, and glorious freedom to be exactly who God made her (and Grandma) to be.

Often, autism and Alzheimer’s/dementia are each viewed as being a terrible thief; a faceless villain who steals and destroys. However, in this splendid story, autism and dementia were not the enemy—they were stepping stones to a beautiful and rare friendship that will forever be cherished and memorialized.

What Do You Think?

Oops! Probably should have issued a tissue warning for Amy’s guest post. Once you’ve dried your eyes, leave a comment in the box below if you like.

No Longer a Thief, Part 1

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