The best children’s stories reveal truth to people of all ages.
As C.S. Lewis once wrote:
No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.
Last fall I read a beautiful book called Tending the Heart of Virtue: How Classic Stories Awaken a Child's Moral Imagination by Vigen Guroian. I set out to read the stories in it to my children, and that’s how we found ourselves deep in the throes of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen one blustery day last winter.
As I read The Snow Queen, I was surprised to find myself tearing up. This tale of a young girl, Gerda, who goes to the ends of the earth to find her beloved friend Kay when his memories were magically stolen had an unexpected resonance as I approached the three-year anniversary of my grandfather’s death.
While my children waited eagerly for the next part of the story, I paused while my mind wandered to another story of enduring love — that of my grandmother, who spent more than a decade helping my grandfather through the frozen landscape of dementia.
When a loved one forgets who they are
Before dementia frosted over his memories, my grandfather's mind was as precise as the instruments he wielded in his medical practice, including serving for a time as an Air Force physician. But like Kay when the Snow Queen traps him in her ice palace and makes him forget who he is, my grandfather’s sharp clarity slowly began to blur.
We watched as the warmth of recognition slowly left his eyes, replaced by a distant winter none of us could melt away. For the last 10 years of his life, he was unable to speak or remember any of his six children and 20 grandchildren — and never even knew about his great-grandchildren.
Three of my children are in the sensitive period for justice, so as we read The Snow Queen, they were increasingly infuriated with Kay’s entrapment.
“It’s not fair!” they argued, frustrated. “Kay didn’t do anything bad. Why did he get taken by the Snow Queen?”
But in real life, bad things happen to good people, and we are left beating our fists against the unfairness.
Why was my grandfather’s memory taken? Why did he miss out on more than 10 years of memories with his family who loved him so much? Why did he never get to find out that he had a great-grandson — my son — who bore his name?
His dignity never forgotten
But this is also my grandmother's story.
And just as Gerda, Kay’s best friend and neighbor, goes on a long and arduous journey to find him and bring him home, my grandmother never gave up on my grandfather. She became the keeper of my grandfather's memories. She never forgot who he really was, and she made sure none of us forgot either.
Every person who visited their home was brought to greet him. In their shady living room, a refuge from the Florida sun, she would introduce each visitor: “Look who came to see you. It’s our granddaughter, Theresa. And she brought her children, see? Let me tell you their names.”
Even as his eyes remained distant and he never replied, she always spoke to him with respect and love.
Gentle daily rituals anchored her routine of faithful care for him. Every day, she prayed the Rosary with him, even as he could no longer recite the familiar prayers. Every day she took him for a walk through their verdant neighborhood, a nurse or family member pushing his wheelchair. She often walked him past a local playground because she thought he might like seeing the children play. Grandpa had always loved children.
As Catholics, we know our worth as human beings has nothing to do with our cognitive ability. We know this intellectually; we know each immortal soul is made in God’s image. Yet it can be hard to remember that when we watch loved ones' minds fail, when someone can’t seem to hear or see or notice anything around them.
What does it look like to live out the truth that all humans are made in God’s image? Throughout those long hard years, my grandmother never let his dignity be forgotten. She made sure he was always treated with the respect he deserved.
“When you forget who you are, I will remember for you. And I won’t stop loving you.” This is the message she wrote, with her whole life.
I learned more about honoring human dignity from my grandma than from all the lectures, books, and articles in the world.
Not the end of the story
When I explained to my kids that the story reminded me of my grandparents, they protested further.
“But at the end of the story, Kay remembers who he is. He gets better and goes home with Gerda,” they said. “That didn’t happen with Grandpa. He never remembered us before he died.”
“But you’ve forgotten,” I said. “We are not at the end of the story.”
A light dawned in their eyes as they began to grasp what I meant.
“What do you think it will be like in Heaven?” I asked. “What do you think will happen when Grandpa and Grandma see each other again for the first time?”
When Kay is freed from the Snow Queen’s spell, he is able to see clearly again at last. In heaven we will know each other fully in the light of unending love. Every act of faithful care given on earth will be known and seen, perhaps for the first time.
The Snow Queen ends with the two children together, home at last, and with beauty and warmth surrounding them. All the hardships and terrors they endured are a distant dream:
But, just as they passed through the door they were aware that they were grown people. The roses in the gutter were flowering in at the open windows, and there were the little stools, and Kay and Gerda sat down each on their own, and held each other by the hand. They had forgotten the cold empty splendour of the Snow Queen's palace as if it were a dismal dream. Grandmother was sitting there in God's bright sunshine and reading aloud from the Bible. "Except ye become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
Just like this, I imagine, will be the reunion in heaven — not only for all of us whose loved ones can’t remember us, but also for all the love stories separated by death.
As Gerda conquered the Snow Queen with no power but her love and her prayers, love and prayers strengthen those who keep caring for loved ones whose memories are gone.
And then? There isn’t a tidy, neat-bow ending here. The suffering of dementia is so cruel that there aren’t any easy answers.
Yet perhaps it helps to read stories like The Snow Queen, stories that are just as worth reading at ten as at 80. These stories can help us to know that we are not alone. That there are moments of light along this bitter road. That love endures, even when memory fails and life itself is extinguished.
Hope carried Gerda on her long journey through winter. If you’re walking this hard journey with a loved one, hopefully The Snow Queen can help you hold onto hope that love is stronger than memory loss. We can trust in the hope of what lies ahead and in Christ’s promise that one day, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes.”
