STELLA

I’ve almost become artistic. My abilities and disabilities have been banging around in the same can, so to speak. — Sam Hagley, 2010

I met Sam Hagley during my time as a teaching assistant for a psychology course at the University of Virginia in 2010. He was one of four older adults working with undergraduate students in the course, called “Arts and Aging,” to explore the arts as a means of expression, communication, and connection for those affected by memory loss. He and his two companions, his wife, Elaine, and a family friend, Pamela Wells, joined the project with enthusiasm. Sam shared detailed stories from his life, stories of visiting Lebanon, the homeland of his parents, of changing careers from chemical engineering to accounting, of finding a new appreciation for art just as he was entering into the early stages of frontotemporal dementia. He discovered a passion for drawing and began to carry a sketchpad, making drawings of flowers and birds with colorful fine-tipped markers. Sam told me how he and his wife loved to watch the birds at the feeders in their yard, how the feeders were specially made to ward off greedy squirrels. Nature seemed to resonate with him. His stories brought to mind the words of Cary Smith Henderson in the confessional Partial View: An Alzheimer’s Journal. Henderson, among his musings on the experience of dementia, explains his own connection to his winged companions:

One of the things which my wife started which I’ve been really fascinated by is—well, you might call it a bird sanctuary. She puts out feed for the birds and they really seem to enjoy it. It’s something really interesting to watch—how many different birds we can get. It’s awful hard to say how many there were because they—because they do fly away—they fly back—they fly away. They’re kind of unstable. (77)

Unstable hands and mind did not deter Sam from his newfound passion, and with help from his caregivers and the students, he was able to document his memories and creations before they took flight. The students in the course electronically compiled Sam’s stories and drawings, along with music and photographs, in a kind of digital scrapbook, a “bag of jewels,” as he called it, to pass on to his children. Now that he has passed, this treasure that contains his words and works has even greater value for his family as they remember the man “loved by all who knew him.”

Sam’s life came to a close several months after the scrapbook was completed. Sam spoke through his art. A watercolor sunrise over the landscape of Lebanon illuminated his childhood memories of his parents’ native land; the architecture of Notre Dame University hewn in blue, green, and gold paints told of Sam’s college days; his careful drawings of landscapes, flowers, and birds teemed with the energy and character of the hand creating them. Even until the last day I saw him, he continued to draw, to tell his story. On that day, Sam paid tribute to his caregivers, his wife, Elaine, and his friend, Pam, rendering them as angels on a small circle of construction paper.

— LC, 2012

Artwork by Sam Hagley