Meet a wellbeing and dementia lead...Mark

Mark has worked at Emmaus House, Harrogate for three years as a Wellbeing and Dementia Lead, championing our person-centred approach. As he prepares to retire, he reflects on all he has learned

I joined Emmaus House as Wellbeing and Dementia Lead, where I felt called to serve. When my wife and I arrived in Harrogate, we had few roots or connections outside church, so I was looking for a way to belong. I saw this job advertised, showed it to my wife, and she said, “That role has your name written all over it.” I wrestled with doubt before the interview, but while decorating the house one day I asked God, “Is this from You?” The phrase came: “I don’t give you a scorpion; I give you an egg.” It was all the reassurance that I needed to apply for the role.

My experience of dementia care was personal before it was professional. My dad spent five years in a nursing home, and my mum lived with dementia for about 10 under 10 years—five at home, then five in care homes. Some of the things I see now, I wish I’d known then. Each person is different, as is their dementia journey: Alzheimer’s, Lewy body, vascular, mixed etc. Understanding the unpredictability, the sensory distortions, the frustrations suffered by those with this disease, has shown me the need to care with humility, not assumptions.

From day one I committed to a simple principle: we do with, not do to. Care must always be person-centred, never task-driven alone. Every moment is an opportunity to connect. When we make someone a cup of tea, it becomes a moment to have tea with them. When we help someone brush their hair, we ask, “would you like help with your hair?” let them do what they can, and if needed help them finish off. What someone refuses today, they might accept tomorrow. A lady once told me she missed coffee, even though everyone said she only ever drank tea. Small reminders like that keep us humble, curious, flexible, ever listening.

I start around eight, to see who’s around and how they’re doing. Sometimes I notice staff members quieter than usual. Then I pause and ask, “What’s going on today?” I seek to find a quiet moment for a personal chat, to hear how they’re doing. Staff sometimes bear hurts, grief, and stress. My pastoral training helps me listen, pray, encourage. Some conversations happen over tea, some in office corners, sometimes outside work when extra support is needed. It’s never a script; just heart meeting heart.

A “typical” day doesn’t exist. I must be interruptible because often the interruptions are the ministry. One evening, on my way home, I found a ‘family member’, (those who live with us) frozen on the stairs, unable to move up or down, panicking. I stayed with her, step by step, over a period of time, and was able to help her to the dining room for tea. When new family members arrive, I sit with them, listening to their life story, loves, fears, what dementia means, what are their hopes. Other times I’m observing care, giving feedback, helping staff live The Way We Care approach in ways they might not even notice.

Faith is the lens through which I do this work. I believe love is “the will to good”. In every interaction, whether with a family member, a staff member, or a relative, I ask, “Is this rooted in the will for their flourishing?” Sometimes the moment is tense; a family or staff member is upset. That’s okay. The motive for action must be love, not control. Kindness, patience, gentleness—these are the fruits of the Spirit I lean into when tiredness presses in. When someone with dementia asks to go to the toilet repeatedly, love doesn’t snap.