He woke up happy, which was notable in itself. Too many times, Jim would wake up angry at some real or imagined issue. Alzheimer’s is like that. No one warns you about the mercurial mood swings, the angry times, the agitation. I had thought that it was just about losing one’s memory, but there is so much more to it.
That day, however, he was in a very good mood. We had an extra cup of coffee and a relaxing breakfast. He was much more tuned in to life than usual, even watching a bit of Good Morning America. It was sunny, and the spring blossoms were inviting. We decided to take a ride to the arboretum, chatting about inconsequential things on the way. Our daughters and I always made it a point to bring up only simple topics. Unfortunately, by that time, there was nothing to be gained by asking his advice, or opinion on anything of any real importance.
Jim was a good deal older than me. He was a trained engineer and very well read. His ability to figure things out, and quote Winston Churchill, Joe DiMaggio and Thomas Aquinas was part of what attracted me in the first place. The quotes were all in the first two hours of the night I met him. He had a long fuse, slow to anger, quick to forgive. He loved me dearly and wanted me to be happy. He was very proud of being Mr. Mom to our two girls.
Somewhere around our 25th anniversary, things started to change. He would get angry over small things or refuse to do things that we had previously enjoyed. I actually mentioned it to our family doctor who said, “He’s over 60, taking care of two little kids. I’d be crabby too.” Within a few years the crabbiness had morphed into serious anger issues, mental confusion and forgetfulness.
But, for that one day in May, thoughts of the pain or anger were pushed aside. As I pushed his wheel chair through the winding paths at the Arboretum we talked about the blossoms on the trees, the progress of our girls through school, the weather, ….nothing noteworthy or significant….but that was the point. It was a real conversation, the first one in weeks that didn’t devolve into arguments or confusion. We sipped coffee on the terrace and looked out at the trees in full bloom across the small lake. Later, we snooped around the gift shop and found a painting of the same scene. Jim insisted that we buy it as an anniversary/birthday gift for me from him. It hangs in my bedroom now along with other family photos.
Within a few weeks, Jim’s behavior had become more and more unmanageable. Unbeknownst to me, our daughters went to my sisters and asked them to intervene and insist that I get help or find a place for Jim that could provide for his needs. Sadly, a behavior crisis resulted in his admission to a geriatric psych unit at a local hospital, to “just get his medications straightened out.” He never set foot in our house, a place that he had loved from the first day we moved in 15 years earlier, again. The hospital admission set off a round of legal, financial and medical complications so that it took nearly a month to find a residential memory care unit that could meet his needs. Miraculously, a wonderful psychiatrist managed to adjust Jim’s medication to the point that he was calm, happy, alert and responsive to the care he was receiving. When I wheeled him into the memory care unit at Sunrise, he raved about how pretty it was. He was convinced that he was staying at a very nice bed and breakfast.
The angry outbursts and confusion had mostly abated. The one thing that I had feared the most that he would demand to go home at some point. Apparently, the month of living at the hospital and rehab facility had managed to erase the memory of “home.” Periodically, he would ask me where I lived now. I would give a vague answer about living in a house nearby. Not really a lie since he was less than two miles from me. He seemed perfectly content with that answer.
I was able to visit twice a day because he was so close. About a month after his move, he started asking me to marry him “since I was always there anyway.” I told him he had already married me. He responded, “I’ll be damned, I’m smarter than I thought.” Finally, we decided we should have a wedding, right there at Sunrise. The staff got a big kick out of it and we actually invited a few friends and family to join us. Jim told me to go out and buy myself something pretty to wear. One of our daughters “officiated” and we shared cake and snacks with the staff and other residents. He was absolutely as happy as I have ever seen him, every bit as happy as on our original wedding day 30+ years earlier. After everyone had gone home and we finished cleaning up from the party I told Jim that I needed to head for home. He looked a little surprised and asked why I needed to leave, since now we were married. I told him I needed to go home and feed the dogs. He just shrugged and said, “Oh, okay, never mind.”
Those were sweet times. He enjoyed himself tremendously at a Halloween party at the facility. So much so that I looked forward to their Christmas party. By Christmas, he had lost interest in interacting with the staff or other residents. The nurses mentioned that he seemed to be failing. The failure was gradual enough that, seeing him twice a day, I blocked it out or really wasn’t aware of it. Each day, it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and keeping on keeping on. At that point, there was no point in worrying or grieving about what was or what might have been.
In February, after a brief medical emergency, the hospital staff convinced me to enroll Jim in hospice. I resisted mightily. It felt like I was giving up on him completely. Up to that point, I knew that his mind might not be the best, but he was stable, and I really believed that this could go on for years. The only reason I signed the hospice papers was to be able to return him to Sunrise, albeit with increased hospice nursing care. It was still the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. I signed on Valentine’s Day – not a romantic memory.
By April, it was clear that Jim was nearing the end. Our youngest had prom and high school graduation coming up. She had missed out on so much due to her dad’s illness that I wanted her final month of high school to go smoothly, if not happily. I literally prayed that Jim wouldn’t die before Prom – a weird prayer – but it was answered. He lived another week past prom. His funeral and burial were just before her final exams, so she was able to graduate without worrying about her dad anymore.
Losing my husband to Alzheimer’s was not a tragedy in any gut wrenching sense. It was just a long series of mundane, day to day events and issues that we dealt with, one at a time, as they arose. The end was very peaceful, the wake and funeral very comforting and the military honors at the funeral were moving. We are moving on and enjoying life. But, still, at least once a day, I look at that painting on the wall and remember that last perfect day.