To socialise or not!

Yesterday we went to a neighbourhood party. The occasion was the 87th birthday of a lovely man who is something of a local icon. Like many around here, we are genuinely fond of Dudley, who is a friend to everyone and who spends his mornings eradicating weeds from surrounding bushland, as his contribution to maintaining an environment that he loves. In the afternoon he usually calls in to one or another of our houses for a bit modest socialising. He never stays long, but likes to keep in touch with us all. But the point of my post today is not how deserving Dudley is of being feted by neighbours, for he certainly is and I'm only too happy to acknowledge that. No, my point is that even though we have the highest regard for our friend, I don't think I will subject Allen, or me, to any more such parties with casual acquaintances.

Before we left home yesterday, Allen went through his various 'I have aphasia' cards and selected the one that he thought contained the best message for the occasion. He put this card in his pocket so it would be handy. And he promised me he would produce it when trying to talk to anyone, to help explain his difficulty in communicating and show that he wanted to keep trying.

We live in a friendly neighbourhood, but each house sits on one or more acres of land. This is a hinterland location and there are no footpaths. The meandering road goes up and down hills. People don't walk along our road very much, except to exercise their dog if they don't have a fenced area around their house. So we don't regularly see our neighbours, except when checking the mail or passing each other in cars. We know most of them by sight or from occasional short conversations near a mailbox. Dudley, who visits us all regularly, is something like our town crier, passing on news from house to house. But we've been here since 1996 so by now most of our neighbours know something about the fact that Allen isn't capable of independent living, that he has had a long hospitalisation and that I'm now his carer. I think a few assume he's got dementia or Alzheimer's. We aren't close enough for me to disabuse them of such ideas, but I do try to provide appropriate information whenever the opportunity arises. And for many years until her death, Dudley cared for his own spouse, who did have Alzheimer's. So he, at least, is no stranger to our situation.

Ours is probably the most modest house in the area. Houses across the street sit atop a kind of ridge which offers fabulous views up and down the coast, about 10km away. In the last 10 years most of those properties have been expanded or redeveloped and have sold for between one and three million dollars. So we aren't exactly in the same financial situation as many of our neighbours. We don't belong to local golf or tennis clubs, and we don't regularly travel interstate or internationally as many of them do. All of these things probably contribute to there being a bit of a gulf between 'us' and 'them'. But I doubt if anything contributes more to that gulf than Allen's inability to talk and socialise, and other people's inability, or unwillingness, to try and bridge that gulf.

Allen spent most of the afternoon party sitting by himself, or with me. Most guests said hello to him, and a few asked 'How are you?'. But that's as far as these conversations ever got before people moved away. Allen certainly never got the chance to show his aphasia card, explaining why he was having trouble communicating. I've never been much of a party-goer myself, but Allen was always a very sociable person and would once have been right in his element in any group of this sort. Now it's just too painful for me to watch as conversations pass him by. He can't even get pleasure from listening, because unless people take the trouble to speak slowly and clearly, he won't be able to follow the discussion. I'm not sure it's as difficult for him as it is for me to see that happen. He may be a bit more oblivious and happy to just observe the flow. I tried to question him about this afterwards, but of often happens I couldn't get a clear picture of how he felt.

We have another lunchtime party coming up in a few weeks. These midday affairs are the only kind of parties I would subject Allen to, as noisier night-time gatherings fuelled by alcohol are definitely beyond both us now. But lately even daytime gatherings can be awkward. Any talk in an environment in which several conversations are going on at once is impossible for Allen to comprehend. But this next party is a very dear old friend's family event, celebrating her daughter's impending motherhood. Our girls were born at about the same time, and we've known each other since before their births. Besides, we have a lot more in common with this family and their friends, so there's more chance of 'connecting' in incidental conversation. (I had to laugh yesterday when I heard one guest ask another: "So, you still own that shopping centre?") There may also be more willingness to be inclusive, and to try and help Allen contribute in some way.

I don't want us to end up as hermits up here on our lovely little hilltop. But sometimes one can feel lonelier in a group of people than by oneself.