My mom has always loved fantasy and science fiction. I grew up on the original series of Star Trek. At my aunt’s holiday parties, the kids were always plunked down into the study with Star Wars. She thought E.T. was the cutest thing ever, and bought me the original VHS tape. I was terrified, and that mystified her. (But really- that scream, those GIANT blue eyes, and an exposed heart? Hard pass, even as a grown person.)
Dementia took a lot of things from my mother, but one of the biggest things was her ability to follow a story. It left her very early. If the movie isn’t full of dopamine and adrenaline dumping heroics, sex, and violence paired with amazing graphics…. she’s not here for it. Thankfully, sci-fi and fantasy series and movies often can fulfill those needs in a spectacular way.
It started with Game of Thrones. I wanted to watch it, and it was a way to get Mom away from watching the same awful true crime documentaries over and over again. It worked…. too well. While we were waiting for the next episode or season to come out, she’s began watching the episodes that already aired, exclaiming “there’s a new Game of Thrones!” every single time. It wasn’t new, but it was new to her, and we just learned to let it go.
She was obsessed with the idea of dragons and riding one. Even more importantly: we needed to acquire one. My mother is the grown version of the kid that just simply does not understand why an elephant cannot live in their bedrooms with them. Getting a dragon became an all-important quest, so I told her I’d try to track one down.
I had the “bright” idea of getting her the movie How to Train Your Dragon while we waited for the newest season of GoT to come out. I purchased it on a whim- “mom loves dragons, she’ll love this”- and brought it home. I presented it to her, very pleased with myself.
She was not so pleased. She looked at it, deep in thought, saying nothing.
“Whatsa matter? You don’t like it?”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s going to do me much use.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have a damn dragon to train.”
And then it clicked. She thought it was a teaching video. She took the title literally.
I laughed, and then explained, it was a story about a boy who does train a dragon. I offered to put it on for her, and we watched it together.
When it was done, I said “wasn’t that a cute movie? I love Toothless.”
“Toothless is cute. Would’ve been a better movie if I was watching it petting my own dragon though.” And then she paused. “How…do we get a Toothless? I think that’s the kind of dragon I want. Toothless is fast and goes really high.”
Build A Bear had Toothless. So, I built one for her, and brought it home in the box. There was no way I was taking her there- she would’ve been overstimulated very quickly, and it would’ve likely ended with me wishing a dragon would just take me out. Knowing limits is important. I presented her with a Toothless. She looked at him with enormous love, and then:
“But. Does he fly?”
“No. I can’t afford one that flies. But- he does talk. And I think the first step to training a dragon is learning their language, right?”
She spent hours trying to discern what sounds meant coming from him. Everyday they meant something new, every day I sat through a tutorial until she lost her train of thought and started talking about something else. As time rolled on, and I posted on my private social media about Mom and her love of dragons, friends sent her dragons. She loved all of them. They all still live on her dresser.
One day, I was supposed to take her for a walk, but it was storming, and the bayou had flooded. There would be no walk. She asked about it, oblivious to the consequences of the storm outside. I told her that we couldn’t, and why.
“See. This is why I need a dragon,” she said.
“Why?”
“If I had a dragon, I could just fly to the beach instead.”
What I learned from Mom’s dementia-driven dragon obsession is this: dementia is a harsh conqueror that takes no prisoners, yes. But, there are silver linings in their suspension of belief and reason that can be turned into moments of wonder and joy for them, where rules and rationality do not apply. It can possibly create a space for joy- if you’re willing to follow them into those places and be in them together. Meeting someone where they are doesn’t mean that you’re going into a bad place (unless you make it bad by trying to deny its existence to them). It means you’re going to a place where they explain how things are or ought to be to them. And in that, you can find meaning and a way back into your reality together.
The Dementia Diva 