My Cousin Leslie’s Lunch Plate — Thursday, July 5, 2018
I took this photo of what was left on my cousin Leslie’s lunch plate when I visited with her on Thursday July 5, 2018. If we compared it to a photo of what she was served, we’d have a pretty good idea of what she ate.
But even with two photos, we wouldn’t know whether Leslie fed herself or was fed by someone else, whether her eyes were open or closed while she ate, whether she was entertained by playful banter between care givers and residents or ate alone in the quiet of her room.
The photos alone would not indicate whether Leslie took fifteen minutes or fifty to eat her lunch, or what else she ate earlier or later that day and how that compares to the days before or after. Beyond that, we couldn’t tell from the two photos if she enjoyed her meal, or if she struggled to chew or packed food between her teeth and her cheek.
The questions we can’t answer about my cousin Leslie from a photograph or two of her lunch plate suggest only a few of the many dimensions of her life. But they are hopefully enough to remind us that people with Alzheimer’s not only have a debilitating disease, they also have lives to live—and are doing so, day by day and moment by moment, as are we all.