My heart aches for these people who lose the ability to do their favourite life purpose & fulfilling things. I recently read a lovely story on BoredPanda about an artist William Utermohlen with Alzheimer’s who drew self portraits for 5 years until he could barely remember his own face. The art shows such a raw emotion and to me a growing frustration that simply breaks your heart.
My mom loved to crochet, she made blankets (there is one in every house I go to because she made them for EVERYONE). A handmade blanket is carried throughout one’s life. You wrap your newborn in it, that child later takes it everywhere because it triggers feelings of comfort and family. Later that blanket goes to college and is hugged and wipes away tears caused from a serious breakup. A crochet blanket made by my mom begins a legacy and while it may tatter over the years it never weakens in importance and meaning.
When the blankets got too hard for her to do, she started doing dishrags.
She was able to do them for a long time before they started coming out in random shapes, triangles, space saucers. Instead of fretting over the loss of a perfect square- I washed dishes with unique UFO dishrags.
Then finally the wool was too difficult for her to keep untangled and that was the end of that.
I still have every one of her crooked dishrags.