DEMENTIA
Life takes us from childhood to old age, with plenty of adventures along the way. But what happens when the memories of those adventures begin to disappear?
Let me tell you about Ed Poley.
Ed is a Campbellton native who left town to become a high school teacher in Saint John, New Brunswick.
We played soccer together when we were high school students. Ed was also a star basketball player with the Campbellton High team.
Decades later, our paths crossed again in Saint John.
That’s when I discovered Ed had married Debbie, a Saint John native who also worked in the school system. They lived in a house, built in the 1800s, perched on a hill overlooking the edge of town.
I was surprised — and pleased — to learn that Ed had taught journalism, emphasizing the importance of ethics.
Well.
That was music to my ears.
We soon became close friends. Ed inspired me, and I became a better reporter because of him.
The years passed.
Then dementia entered their lives.
Debbie was the first to be affected. As her condition worsened, she moved into a care facility. Ed visited her every day.
Eventually, Ed began showing symptoms of dementia himself.
Whoa!
I’d already had some firsthand experience with the disease. Another former soccer teammate, Ed Black, developed dementia and eventually died from it. I wrote about his ordeal in a blog story called Losing Your Mind.
Now another old friend was facing the same frightening prospect.
Ed Poley and I continued talking regularly on the telephone. He’d tell me how Debbie was doing, what kind of day she was having and how she was coping.
Eventually, Ed moved into the same care facility as his wife.
A SURPRISE VISIT
On the afternoon of September 25, 2026, I paid Ed a surprise visit.
I hadn’t told him I was coming.
Staff directed me to the second floor, where I found Ed in a large dining hall, holding court with several people around a table.
Perfect.
I walked up behind him, pulled out my cellphone and dialed his number.
The people at the table could see what was coming. They began smiling.
Ed answered.
“Hello, Byron. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Ed, I’m right behind you.”
Ed turned to his left.
Nothing.
The smiles around the table grew wider.
Then Ed turned to his right.
And there I was.
I extended my hand, expecting a handshake.
Ed wanted a hug.
And a hug he got.
It was a touching moment, not only for Ed and me but for everyone at the table. They were residents, too.
Ed showed me his room, on the same floor as Debbie.
I suggested we go for a drive.
He liked that idea.
But first, he wanted to see his wife.
THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE OF LOVE
Debbie was confined to a wheelchair, secured with a safety strap.
She sat quietly, her eyes barely open, her lips trembling gently.
Ed approached her, kissed her forehead and began stroking her hair.
The trembling stopped.
Then came the faintest smile.
I stood there watching.
Ed didn’t need words to communicate with his wife.
He was speaking the international language of love.
And Debbie understood.
That moment touched me deeply. It’s one of the reasons I’m sharing this story.
Dementia may steal memories, but it doesn’t necessarily erase the ability to recognize tenderness.
And what I witnessed between Ed and Debbie was tenderness at its finest.
A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE
Ed and I climbed into my rental vehicle, a Nissan SUV, and headed through the streets of Saint John toward his former home at 697 Bay Street.
I had the GPS operating.
Didn’t need it.
Ed was barking out directions before the lady on the GPS could get a word in.
Turn here. Keep going. Now take this street.
Nothing wrong with this guy’s memory!
We arrived in his old neighbourhood, but instead of stopping at his former house, we pulled up in front of his neighbour’s place.
Wally Nason was sitting on his porch, wearing sunglasses, listening to the birds and enjoying the sunshine.
Out stepped Ed.
Wally immediately got to his feet.
The two men shook hands and began exchanging stories.
I grabbed my camera and started shooting photographs.
A HOUSE FULL OF MEMORIES
Later, Ed and Wally walked over to Ed’s former home, where they met the new owners.
Ed thanked them for taking care of the old place.
Think about that.
A man dealing with dementia was thanking strangers for looking after a house he no longer owned.
That was Ed Poley.
Always thinking about someone else.
And on this particular afternoon, he was as sharp as a tack.
He knew where he was, recognized his old neighbour and seemed to remember everything about the neighbourhood.
He was full of life.
CALL IT PAYBACK
On the drive back to the care facility, Ed kept telling me what a wonderful afternoon he’d had.
He was genuinely grateful.
But as far as I was concerned, it was no big deal.
Ed had spent much of his life giving to others. He’d encouraged students, helped colleagues and inspired people wherever he worked.
Including me.
So what was an afternoon out with an old friend?
Call it payback.
When we returned to the care facility, I had one more surprise.
I showed the woman at reception a photograph of Ed enjoying his afternoon outing.
Except he wasn’t in Saint John.
He was sitting on the Great Wall of China!
Ed Poley takes a break on the Great Wall of China. Not bad for an afternoon outing from a Saint John care facility! Thanks to ChatGPT for the chuckle.
STILL GIVING
There was something else I noticed during my visit.
Watching Ed mingle with the staff, I sometimes had trouble figuring out whether he was an employee or a resident.
He seemed to know everyone.
Always an encouraging word.
A friendly smile.
A pat on the back.
Ed was like a cheerleader, lifting the spirits of those around him.
Despite his own circumstances, he was still reaching out to help others.
But then, Ed was a former Speed Demon who played soccer under Don Hume. And knowing what Don taught us about life, that didn’t surprise me.
Dementia may change a person. But on that September afternoon, I saw something it hadn’t taken from Ed Poley.
His heart.
NOVA SCOTIA VISITS
Old Friends, New Memories
While travelling through Nova Scotia, I caught up with a number of friends — some old, some new.
And as I’ve discovered over the years, it’s often the people you meet, rather than the places you visit, who make a journey memorable.
A HOME AWAY FROM HOME
I used the home of James and Heather McMurray as my base of operations.
I’d first met the couple in Toronto in 1973. More than half a century later, we were still close friends.
They’d moved from Brampton, Ontario, to a quiet hamlet not far from New Glasgow.
It was a wonderful place to hang my hat while exploring the province.
A highlight of my visit was playing half a dozen games of chess with James and Heather’s son, Alex. What a treat to play against a human again! LOL.
Every game ended with a smile and a handshake, just as they did when I played against Alex’s dad in Toronto many years ago.
A LITTLE HISTORY — AND A ROLLS-ROYCE
James and I stopped at the Museum of Industry in nearby Stellarton, where exhibits bring Nova Scotia’s industrial past to life — from coal mining and steelmaking to railways and manufacturing.
The museum, which opened in 1995, is well known for its historic locomotives.
It also has a wonderful gift shop with reasonably priced souvenirs.
I picked up a Nova Scotia coffee mug for a co-worker back in Alberta and two large posters of fire trucks for a retired firefighter, Gene La Rose.
Then James and I turned detective.
We tracked down the owner of a 1978 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.
Now we’re talking!
I own a 1973 model, but this one appeared to be in considerably better condition.
It didn’t take me long to fall in love with it.
Some men are passionate about their golf clubs.
Me?
Give me an old car with character, a little history and a beautiful set of wheels.
I’m hooked.
Love at first sight! A 1978 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow in Nova Scotia. I own a 1973 model, but this beauty appeared to be in much better shape. Some men collect golf clubs. I have a weakness for antique cars.
A JUDGE WITH A SENSE OF HUMOUR
While in the area, I fired off a text to a judge I’d hoped to visit.
Unfortunately, he was tied up with a case and couldn’t get away.
Fair enough.
I sent him another message.
I explained that the accused hadn’t committed the crime.
I had.
And if the judge played along, we could split the reward money and disappear to Ireland.
No one would ever know.
The judge didn’t sic the cops on me.
So I guess he got the joke.
TWO LITTLE COWBOYS
I also visited my niece, Trina, who married a man from Iran. They have two wonderful boys.
The youngsters took a liking to my Australian hat and wanted to try it on.
That gave me an idea.
With a little help from ChatGPT, I transported the boys to the Wild West.
Well, sort of.
I had two separate photographs, which were blended into a single image showing the boys embracing against a Western backdrop.
The result was delightful.
Two young cowboys, one Australian hat and a little computer magic. These were originally separate photographs, brought together with help from ChatGPT. The Wild West never looked so friendly!
Amazing what technology can do.
And here’s something to think about.
Ten years from now, this kind of computer wizardry will probably be old hat.
No one will raise an eyebrow.
Except perhaps an old reporter who still remembers typewriters, carbon paper and darkrooms.
A PHONE CALL I DIDN’T EXPECT
Not all my telephone calls led to happy reunions.
One brought heartbreaking news.
I called an old friend, Darlene Wright, who lives near Truro, and left a message.
Whenever I visited Nova Scotia, Darlene and I would get together for a meal and a good conversation.
I was looking forward to doing that again.
But when she returned my call, she told me she was in a Halifax hospital, undergoing treatment for an aggressive cancer.
Wow.
I wasn’t expecting that.
A telephone call that should have been about arranging lunch had suddenly become something much more serious.
There wasn’t much I could say.
I wished her well and hoped for the best.
It was a sobering reminder that while we’re busy making plans, life sometimes has other ideas.
AMHERST — AND A MAN WHO KNOWS HOW TO MAKE PEOPLE LAUGH
Next stop was Amherst, Nova Scotia.
That’s where I caught up with Bryne MacIntyre — pronounced Brian — and his wife, Barb.
Bryne is a draegerman, a specially trained mine rescue worker.
We met at the large cemetery in nearby Springhill, a community forever associated with devastating coal-mining disasters.
The tragedies of the 1950s claimed many lives and left scars that have endured for generations.
For a man like Bryne, whose work involves rescuing miners when things go terribly wrong, that history carries special meaning.
Later, the three of us crossed into New Brunswick and enjoyed a wonderful meal at a family restaurant.
The food was excellent.
So was the company.
Bryne is a mischievous fellow, always ready with a one-liner.
He had everyone laughing, including Barb.
And I found myself thinking how fortunate a community is to have people like him.
People who can make others smile.
People who brighten a room simply by walking into it.
It’s a gift.
And Bryne has it.
A DIFFERENT VIEW FROM ABOVE
During my visit, I managed to get some drone photographs of Bryne and Barb’s neighbourhood.
Later, I displayed the images on their large television.
That produced a steady stream of oohs and aahs.
For about 20 minutes, we sat there looking at familiar surroundings from an entirely different perspective.
It’s amazing what you discover when you look at something you’ve known for years — but from a different angle. Remember, click on the photo to enlarge.
