Dear Readers,

I last wrote to you about four months ago, right after taking Rawbaw, my patient — and kid sister — to see a neuropsychologist. He confirmed that her short-term memory is just about shot — but her long-term memory is as sharp as a razor.

(Far sharper than mine. For instance, she can remember every time I teased her in 1944, when I was 6 and she was 4.)

Needless to say, whenever Rawbaw and I dwell in the past, we communicate (and reminisce) like mad. Small wonder that we talk about old times a lot — and we're truly fortunate that the old times were such good times for us both.

But what I really want to talk about in this new chapter is the importance of giving your patient every opportunity to shine, in whatever capacity. There is such a thing as doing too much for someone, and I am just now realizing that I've been guilty of that.

I long ago got it into my head that Rawbaw was helpless and would need constant attention. After all, I reasoned, she had failed to take responsibility for her medical issues, her communications with her doctors, and the steady progress she'd have to make with in-home therapists to master a prosthesis and walk again.

But I was overlooking all the bits of wisdom in her mind that are obviously still part of her intellectual make-up.

Besides being a mother, a grandmother, and having served as foster parent, Rawbaw has had a lot of experience with home maintenance, knows how to sand and paint, how to hang wallpaper, and is quite familiar with power tools and the basics of using them safely. Her considerable do-it-yourself skills are all things I know little or nothing about. She clearly has a mechanical sense that I do not.

Rawbaw also has a strong grasp of classical music that comes from a long career as a professional violist in various symphony orchestras. She taught herself to play the piano last year, and has offered to teach me how. (I should take her up on that. I've always regretted quitting piano lessons after one semester of instruction in grade school, just after World War II.)

In short, I have been focusing on what Rawbaw cannot do — and not on what she still can do, which is a lot. In the coming weeks and months, I plan to turn that around and encourage her to do everything from folding clothes to teaching me how to play the piano (and/or the viola?).

To my mind, one of the most impressive things about Rawbaw is her strong sense of humor through all her trials and tribulations, which makes my role as her live-in caregiver much easier than it would otherwise be.

She is also one of the kindest, most service-oriented people I know, having looked after our mother, an Alzheimer's patient, for many years, and later giving lengthy service to needy children through Wisconsin's foster parent program. She continued to help several of her foster children considerably after leaving the state program, and is now intent on leaving all her worldly wealth to her two surviving sons and their families when she dies.

Yes, her dementia makes her a little crisp with me at times, but I think I'd be even more unpleasant if I didn't know what day it was or what I was supposed to do that day. I think I would be impossible to live with, because I am too used to having everything go smoothly.

All that said, I am going to give Rawbaw an A+ as a human being, and I will serve her for the duration.

Frankly, I don't think I have a respectable alternative!

—Michael E. Hearons