Rev’d Dr G. Wayne Short
Diagnosed with dementia in 2019, retired Anglican priest Dr G. Wayne Short* has learned to embrace his condition, with the help of meditation. Meditation, he says, has allowed him to come home to the ground and centre of his being, and know that he is loved.
I am a practising meditator and someone living with a diagnosis of dementia. In this article I attempt to integrate some of my experiences of the two.
I need to make an important disclaimer. I am not an expert in meditation or dementia. Although I have read, studied and lived with them both, I am not qualified to give you medical advice. What I offer is simply my experience of the two; the practice of my meditation and living with dementia, and how they intersect. I hope that my offering may in some way be helpful.
Dementia is a diagnosis that can impact and touch us personally, especially in our proximity and caring for those with the diagnosis. As a pastor for over 35 years, I witnessed this in every parish settings, the places where I ministered to people with this challenging condition sometimes from diagnosis to death. I have witnessed its profound impact on families as it took an enormous toll on them. I questioned my ability to be a good pastor and to make a difference for them.
In my parish experience of parishioners with dementia, I was fortunate because I could walk away, leaving all those dynamics aside. It was crucial not to take on the burdens of others, not to be stressed out or get burnt out. This was an exercise in the gift of “letting go”, some may even call it “divine forgetfulness”.
My diagnosis of dementia came in the fall of 2019. In hindsight, the signs and symptoms were earlier. In the fall of 2013 while serving in a large urban parish in St. Johns Newfoundland I had two strokes. My return to work did not go well. After some months it became painfully clear that I could no longer cope with the mental and physical demands of my work ethic at St. Mark's. I had led the parish in the planning phases of an extensive renovation and expansion. Plans were beginning to be set in motion to tackle the financial aspects of bringing this project into a physical reality.
My personality style and work ethic could not entertain a reduced workload, pausing or stopping the forward movement of this project. I felt my only option was to take early retirement. At the time I was 59 years old. It was not a difficult decision, but it became a devastating experience.
Sheila, my wife, was supportive of this decision and as a full-time health researcher felt that we could manage financially going forward. In the fall of 2014, we relocated to another province, to a small rural community 20 kilometres outside of the capital city. Sheila had full-time employment in public health management, and I was getting set to enjoy freedom at 59, but the freedom concept either deserted me or took a detour elsewhere.
The transition from full-time ministry, the role of a well-trained and educated senior priest and psychotherapist, was devastating professionally, emotionally, and spiritually. I found myself in a spiral of fear and anxiety, feeling socially isolated, nameless, and unknown.
Walking replaced my praying. My anxiety focused on my belief that I was dying, that my strokes, heart disease and diabetes were catching up, my inherited genetic profile meant an early death, so evident in my family tree. When my wife travelled for work, I often entered dark periods and believed I was disappearing.
Approximately seven months in, a light came into my path unexpectedly. I was offered part-time work as a priest-in-charge of a small rural parish working two Sundays a month and one day a week. Around that time, I became aware of meditation courses and groups, particularly focussed on Christian Meditation.
As a priest, I knew about meditation, and I understood the different kinds, and the well-documented health benefits with or without a religious belief system. In my doctorate studies in 1991-1993 near Boston, I was exposed to the groundbreaking work of Dr Herbert Benson’s “mind /body research”. Benson was a cardiologist from Harvard exploring the benefits of meditation for managing symptoms like stress, anxiety and blood pressure, without the use of drugs.
My subsequent ministry and teaching did not include meditation. It was a relatively new phenomenon for me, and in my mind too closely associated with Eastern religions and New Age folk, who seemed to have abandoned the mainline churches in huge numbers. Also, the routine work of a parish priest was very demanding, leaving little time for anything new.
Retirement meant there was time to explore new things. I embraced the practice of Christian meditation. One of the first changes I noticed was that I regained my passion for reading, which I had lost following my strokes. I found that my silence and solitude were being transformed. My role in the parish gave me a sense of purpose and meaning; and I had focus, energy, and excitement to grow spiritually.
Paradoxically my return to a greater sense of wellness and balance gave me the space to slowly recognise that I was struggling with memory issues. Not remembering simple things was an easy one to dismiss. I could blame that on my strokes when I couldn't remember a four-digit pin number; then more embarrassingly, there were a few times when I had to leave items at a checkout because I couldn't access my credit card, using my pin.
There were times when I found myself lost, not knowing how to get to a familiar place, or not knowing why I was at a certain place. I understood that some of these occurrences could be just a part of aging, but the frequency raised concerns.
At home two of the most blatant examples of loss of memory and focused attention were leaving the bathroom water running, and more seriously, leaving the stove on. I found it difficult to get the right words. I began losing my place presiding at the liturgy and forgetting well-known blessings and prayers. I lost my confidence to preach without notes or engage the congregation with questions. I became fearful of stopping in the middle of a thought and not being able to continue. I found that I had to resort to my old practice of scripting my sermons and following them closely in my preaching.
Our family doctor was very concerned and referred me to the provincial gerontology program which had only a few staff and a long waiting list. I opted to pay for private psychological testing. By this time, I felt very concerned, but aware that I was probably in denial. I wanted and needed the testing to reveal that I was OK; yes there were concerns, but my training in tests and measurements would enable me to talk a good game, impress the psychologist and score well.
I might have impressed him, but the results were revealing. Finally, a place opened in the provincial program. After several visits and more testing, a diagnosis was made of “vascular dementia” in the Fall of 2019. More than likely the cumulative effects of my strokes, heart disease and diabetes.
Our specialist in gerontology said that he made his diagnosis hesitantly. Dementia has no cure and just a few treatments that at best may delay the progress of the disease. He was also concerned that my diagnosis could harm my healthcare going forward, by creating bias and making it more difficult for me to be heard in other areas of my healthcare needs.
In hindsight, I can reflect on the dynamics of this diagnosis unfolding over time. I can identify my resistance and my denial. Sheila had to navigate so much more because my diagnosis encompasses all aspects of life and our ability to live with it.
Where does meditation fit into this picture?
Initially, it was more of a focused attempt to meet my challenges in order to fulfill my priestly role. It slowly became a quiet place to stop, oftentimes from my frenetic doings. Sheila sometimes would say to our doctor that he doesn't have an off-switch.
Meditation, without realising it, was self-care, where I could sit in quietness, in stillness and simply be.
The physical aspects were easy to learn and remember. However, employing the mantra is still an ongoing challenge mentally. My mind is like the Canadian radio sitcom “Madly Off in All Directions”. The teaching and wisdom of John Main and Laurence Freeman, and many others, to pray or meditate “as you are able”, has enabled me to embrace the mantra as a friend and guide, not as a competitor; and as a way to allow me to let the presence of the Holy Spirit within bring me home to the ground and centre of my being, in the very heart of Jesus.
It is an indescribable place, a life-giving place that infuses me in ways I do not understand; and when I am mindfully aware of it throughout the day, I know that I am loved. And being loved helps me to love, not in return, or because of, but as a natural flow of the divine spirit within. It seems to me, and I hope for others, that I am standing on holy ground.
This work and practice of meditation - of being contemplative in my over-stimulated world and over-stimulated mind - is an oasis. It is a place of rest, refreshment and renewal that infuses my entire day.
My diagnosis came with a prescription for one of the few drugs available, recommended with the standard caution. This medication is not a cure, at best it may slow down the process; however, after a very short tumultuous period, I had a severe adverse reaction, which swiftly ended my drug therapy.
What was offered next was a lifestyle approach described as PMS, an acronym for Physical Activity, Mediterranean Diet and Socialisation. I simply added another M, for Meditation.
There is joy in knowing that despite all my limitations I am still able to meditate, not necessarily as I would like or hope, but “as I am able.” I am blessed to journey on a pathway made easier because of the wisdom, faithfulness, and teaching of so many like John Main, Laurence Freeman, Richard Rohr, Maggie Ross, and so many more from our faith tradition and other faith traditions. I want to, and I need to do this practice and work as long “as I am able.”
Dementia is not like cancer, where the goal is to use every means possible to destroy it. My diagnosis is not my enemy: it has much to teach me, it is within me, and is now a part of who I am. And so I cling to the echo of Jesus' words in John 10:10: “I came that you may have life and have it abundantly.”
*The Rev’d Dr G. Wayne Short is a retired Anglican Priest with a distinguished career in ministry and pastoral care. He earned his Bachelor of Arts in Religious Studies from Memorial University of Newfoundland in 1982. In 1986, he graduated with a Master of Divinity from Huron College, University of Western Ontario. He furthered his education by completing a Doctor of Ministry in Pastoral Psychology and Clinical Studies from Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, Massachusetts, in 1993, along with an Internship in Pastoral Psychotherapy at the United Pastoral Counselling Centre, Newton Centre, MA. From 1986 to 2014, Wayne served in seven parishes and five dioceses across Canada. Following two strokes in 2014, he took early retirement.
This article is based on an online talk he gave on 5 August 2024 at Benedict’s Well, an outreach of the oblates of the World Community for Christian Meditation (WCCM). You can see the talk here: https://www.youtube.com/live/3hlgmrup-wo?si=NWA65h6syj1QU1VV