Berta Love Told by Margy Andersen Clements On Monday I went to Provo to see Berta at her home in Provo. Bob has frontal lobe dementia and is unable to feed himself, rise to a standing position, sit down, bathe himself, speak, attend to his bathroom duties, or in any way administer to his own care. I observed Alberta caring for him. Like a performer with many smiles and coaxing in a German dialect she got him to occasionally open his mouth and take a bite of food. She played old Jack Benny and Lucille Ball soundtracks for him, and occasionally, as the applause and laughter would crescendo, Bob would laugh too. Earlier that day I observed how it took Alberta and an aide, working together, to finally get him moved from his wheelchair to the chair at the table. I wondered then how she ever would be able to get him into bed in the evening, when the aide was gone and she was alone with him. I worried that it would be too hard for her, that she might injure herself, and then what would they do? That night at Bob’s bedtime, I saw Berta work her magic. She rolled Bob in his chair on wheels to the side of the hospital bed which is now situated in the family room just off the kitchen. She pulled him up from the chair and had him stand up, not facing the bed, but with his right hip against the bed. She then put her arms around him in a big bear hug, and said, “Come on Bob, give me a hug,” teasing him all the time: ”No, not a little one...I want a big one! Like you really mean it, baby!” At that he put his arms around her as well. She then immediately turned her body to the right, forcing him to drop down in a reclining position obliquely across the high hospital bed. She then swung his legs up onto the mattress. After brushing his teeth, all the while talking and smiling at him and joking with him about "How did you get your teeth so dirty, she then began to sing, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” with animation and Broadway-style exaggeration, occasionally bending down close to him, and tickling him a little, saying “You are the cutest one, you are.” This coaxed a big smile from him. And then, she held up a knitted cap, “OK, buster, do you want to wear your Spider Man hat?” He then said the first words she told me later that she had heard in weeks. He said, “Yeah!” She put the cap on his head to keep him warm in the night, kissed his cheek, put his hands in prayer position and knelt down by the hospital bed. “Let’s have prayers.” She thanked God for all their blessings, especially the people who had helped them that day, and for all those who remembered them in their prayers. As I observed all this, I couldn’t help but think, that perhaps this was Alberta’s finest hour. Such a spirit was in that home, there was a holiness about it. I knew Bob, in spite of everything, was truly a happy man. I have always loved Berta, my dear friend of over fifty years, but I have never loved her or admired her more than I do right now. How does that scripture go? “If you have done it unto one of the least of these..." As I was watching from the sidelines (I’m not sure B even knew I was there), I thought, “This should be a documentary! People should see this.” Truly, if even just one person caught the vision of how to care for an invalid in such a way, it would be worth whatever expense.