There’s Still More to be Done - an Alzheimer Journey

For quite some time, I’ve asked God why?  Why is Jerry going through this?  Why is it taking so long?  Why the suffering? I learned quite some time ago that the question “Why?” is something that cannot be answered.  My belief is that when this life is over, we’ll understand.  For now, we’ll never understand the full picture of what God has in store.  For me, I can only wait and abide with Him.  Walk with Him day by day, moment by moment.

It  has now come to the point that we can see that Jerry’s dying is very real.  Up until now, we’ve been able to continue and live the life that God has so richly blessed us with.  But, now has come the time where the rubber meets the road, so to speak.  It’s a lot harder than I thought, but God sustains me.  Pretty much Jerry is not aware of his condition.  He has moments of delight for which I am thankful.  He has security for which I am thankful.  He knows he is loved...oh, so loved.

Still, there is a little fight left in him.  Even yesterday, he clinched his fist loosely and mumbled.  I knew what he was saying...."I’m trying to hold on.”  I held his hand and actually tried to communicate about his leaving.  I asked, “Why?”  He began to cry. I asked, “Are you afraid?”  He said, “No.”   I held firmly and rubbed his arms, “Don’t you know that Jesus has prepared a place for you?”  He heard me and said, “Yes.”  I said, “He’s prepared a place for me too. There will come a time when we’ll have to let go.”  Then, we both cried.  He was aware in those moments.

This morning, however, I had this epiphany.  Even though Jerry’s death is near, none of his know the day or hour.  It could be a day.  It could be a year.  Alzheimer deaths are completely unpredictable.  I realized that, no, there are still things that have to take place before Jerry goes.  God is not finished and there are grand things that must take place first.  Grand spiritual things.  It gave me a completely new perspective.  I saw a much bigger picture...much bigger than just us.

So, maybe that is “why”.  The answer is coming and it will be  far greater than I could have imagined.

’Til Death Do Us Part - an Alzheimer Journey

This whole scenario with Dotty and Bob DeMarco (www.alzheimersreadingroom.com/) has really brought things home to me...  That this journey will eventually  come to an end. As with Bob, this Alzheimer journey has lasted for so many years that it has become a way of life.  Our way of life.  I honestly think of Jerry’s and my relationship to be nothing other than a beautiful love story.  It's about our saying “I do"... " til death to us part”  in our young years, when we had no idea what it meant.  We were so young.  I was 19 and he was 24.  I was entering college, he was graduating.  We were young and stupid and thought we knew everything.  We lived high on the hog.  We travelled.  We lived pay check to pay check.  We grew to become responsible.  We gave birth to three wonderful children.   We buried our parents.

I remember when he was returning from a trip, I ran down the halls of the airport and threw my arms around him.  It was like a movie. I remember to this day an elderly woman who watched and smiled. There were times, we fought.  Plenty of them.  But no matter how hard it got, we knew we would stick it out.  We had been blessed with parents who stuck it out...so would we.  We had made a commitment to God.

Well meaning friends encourage me to move on.  They say he’s not there anymore.  They say he's not the man I once knew.  While I will admit I would love to be held and have someone care for me...it is only a slight temptation. Very slight.  I am fully committed and  am reminded of our commitment every time he comes to me.  Now He throws HIS arms around ME.  He is still there, in fact, after we finished at the park yesterday, he abruptly got up, turned around and said in a shaky voice, "I love you".  Unbelievable how, he has no words and hasn’t for years, yet those words came out.

In his lucid moments, Jerry knows he’s in decline.  He tries to say it.  I think he’s afraid.  Not for himself, but for me.  He has always been my protectorate.  He knows he is leaving.  He doesn’t want to.  I cling to our few moments of lucidity. The depth of our unspoken connection comes only after many, many years together.  It is a reward.  A blessing from God that could never have been imagined.  There are no regrets.  I don’t know what it will be like when he’s gone.  I don’t know if I’ll be prepared even though I’ve had all this time. Others have experienced loss and have survived.  I will too.  Then I’ll move on, counting my blessings.  I’ll move on knowing we have experienced each other from the beginning to the end.....and I’ll be thanking God for a truly beautiful marriage.

Recovery and Emerging LIFE - The Follow Up - an Alzheimer Journey

Yesterday when I walked into Jerry’s new home, I stood in the foyer by the reception desk.   Immediately upon seeing me, the staff said, “He’s in there!” and pointed to the window that looked into the activity room. I peeked in and there I saw Jerry, smiling and dancing with a group of women all around him.  He was grinning from ear to ear, spinning the doe-y eyed ladies around. Have your ever ridden the Texas Cyclone?  It’s probably the oldest wooden roller coaster in the United States, has none of those fancy padded holsters to hold you in.....just a seat for two with a little bar that comes down over your legs.  Jerry and I road that coaster years ago when we lived in Texas.  He loved it.  I HATED IT!  Just when you thought you were  “safe” from the deathly downfall, you come around the curve and down you go again, leaving your sanity up top behind you.  That’s the way these two months have been.

It’s been two months and eight days.  Never, have I doubted that this was the right decision for Jerry.  However, there have been unquenchable  moments of  tears.   It was like being in a cocoon,  trying to break out, but no amount of pretending and positive attitude took away the underlying sadness.  I’ve been to see our grandkids twice and witnessed the birth of our fifth boy.  Beautiful times but without my soulmate to share them with.

Today, I think, I realized that we have broken through.  Seeing Jerry so happy and well adjusted pumped up my heart again.  The dance therapist saw me peeking through the window and waved for me to come in.  When I walked through the door, Jerry did his usual cry and wrapped his arms around me.  Then, we were urged to dance together.  "Eye contact!  Look into his eyes!"  she said.  “Touch and music are two things that remain in tact.”  So, there we were, like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, dancing in the middle of the circle while the other residents looked on.  “Awe.” they sighed.

By the time I left, the group was boarding a bus to get ice cream.  The local ice cream parlor takes orders ahead of time and when the bus arrives, they bring it out to the bus and serve everyone.  Jerry and I helped wheel everyone out, no one was going to be left out.  Jerry was the last one on, but before placing his foot on the step, he looked over at me, walked over and kissed me goodbye, then turned to get on the bus.  I said, “I’ll be back soon.  I love you.”  He responded, with a secure, “Ok.”

So, this morning, Montana and I walked with a spring in our step.  In fact, I noticed I even jogged a little bit.  (A VERY LITTLE BIT.)  She actually was pulling me while she ran after the geese and I bounced along behind her in my rubbery crocks.  Recovering and  feeling new life emerging,  I think we’re going to make it.  It’s been 69 days....but who’s counting.