Tag Archives: touch

More Than Words…

19 Mar

Ernie is speaking “word salad” these days.  There is no logic to his words yet he often speaks with energy and expressive body language.  He seems to know exactly what he is saying and I pretend to follow.  I have learned to laugh at his stories and agree with his muddled statements as he points to something I don’t see or recognize.  His verbal attempts give me mixed emotions:  Joy from his fervor and desire to talk; and sadness over the devastating loss of his well-educated Cambridge vocabulary.

My husband is losing ground and I see his disease taking hold of his ability to connect more and more.  Each week, I see him going downhill and I am frightened.  Last weekend, I decided that I wanted to try to bring him home for dinner — perhaps for his last visit.  I am so glad I did.  Although he showed little recognition of home, he recognized Missy, our cat, and sat down on the bed to pet and “converse” with her as he used to do.

Ernie seemed relaxed as we had dinner at our normal places at the table and silently enjoyed being together.  After dinner, we joined Missy on our bed — where Ernie seemed most comfortable.   I yearned to hold him and tell him how much I loved him and did just that.   Ernie responded as if he understood every word and held me tightly.  Our eyes met and I cried and thanked him for being the wonderful husband he had been to me.  He answered with a tear in his eye in a sentence that made no sense but was loaded with love and affection.  He understood.  We deeply connected without the need for words at that moment and seconds passed in silence. Then, surprisingly,  Ernie turned to me and stated in perfect English, “We love each other in a very nice way.”

I am not sure Ernie will remember last night but the connection we shared and his well-spoken, heart-felt words that found their way to me at that moment  will remain in my memory for the rest of my life.  I don’t understand what exactly happens to the brain with Alzheimer’s but I do know that love still remains in tact no matter how much of the cognitive piece is gone.   Love is energy and feeling and means so much more than words.

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If For a Moment in Time….

5 Dec

Last night gave me that moment in time that I thought was gone forever. For a short time, the clock stopped and life was as it used to be…

Since Ernie’s admittance to the memory care facility, the nights here at home have felt cold and lonely. For 9 months,  I have climbed into my empty bed feeling an aching desire to have him next to me and, upon awakening, have felt the dull jab in my stomach from the reality that he is gone.

Last night, I chose to take Ernie to a Christmas gathering in our community — if for only an hour.  I knew that there would be familiar faces in festive moods with lots of holiday cheer.  Also,  there would be dancing — something Ernie always loved!  Knowing that his feet still moved with a good beat, I wanted to dance with my husband once more!  I pulled out his dress clothes, polished his good shoes and took them to Sunrise to get him handsomely dressed and ready to party!

At first, Ernie appeared confused as to where he was going but, once dressed in his finery, seemed ready to take on the night with “his lady!”  I purposely had Michael Jackson’s CD, This is It, playing in my car as we drove to our event and could not help but see his foot tapping and his hand slapping  his knee to the rhythmic song of Beat It.  Upon our entrance, familiar faces greeted Ernie and me with open, loving arms. Although Ernie could not remember names, he recognized the face and felt the energy of each person.   His enthusiasm and confidence grew with each welcome and he felt loved.

And then, the music began…

Paul, the neighbor D.J., looked at me with a twinkle in his eye when he saw Ernie take me to the dance floor. He surprised us both by playing our two favorite dance songs.   And dance we did.  Ernie’s rhythm took over as he confidently stepped out and swung me around the floor like he always had done.  Together, we danced, laughed, cried, and held each other as if we were the only ones on the floor.  For those moments, we were the Ernie and Margo of yesteryear.

We enjoyed a half dozen dances and were happy.  As we left the party, I thought, What would happen if I brought Ernie home for just one night with me?  I had been advised by the facility staff that this might not be the right move however, my heart spoke clearly that this is what I wanted to do.  I longed to bring him back where he once had been.  When asked if he would like to come home with me, he glanced over at me with a smile and said, You bet, Kiddo.

Ernie walked into our home happy but somewhat confused and I  wondered if I had made the right choice.   I lead him to the bed room, prepared the bed for any unforeseen accidents that might occur, helped him undress and climb into our bed. He seemed comfortable.  After turning out the lights in the other rooms, I returned to our bedroom with a flash back…there Ernie was on his side of bed, tucked in, with our little cat resting on his feet.  I  climbed in next to him and felt safe once more!   I closed my eyes and blessed the feeling of his presence next to me as it had been for 22 years. The warmth of his body, his arm so familiarly wrapped around my waist, his even breathing and his, Good Night Kiddo-squeeze sent us both off to sleep holding tightly to each other the entire night.

In the morning, reality came back. Ernie seemed happy but somewhat agitated and I helped him to get oriented, dressed him, and  took him “home” to where he now lived at Sunrise.  Sad as I felt, I would not have taken away the night together for anything.  If only for a moment in time, the clock seemed to stop, all worries dissolved, and I knew that this night would remain in my memory for the rest of my  life.  For this, I am truly thankful.

Knock Knock — Who’s there?

26 Mar

Taken from my January, 2011 journal:

Each day not only is a new day for the person with Alzheimer’s, it is also a new day for the partner.  As I go to bed at night, I wonder what the next day will bring and who will be awakening next to me in my bed.  Some mornings, I awake to the man I know and give a sigh or relief  and a prayer of thanks for his recognized and familiar traits.  Other mornings, I observe a dazed man who is next to me with his eyes staring at the ceiling as if to ask, Where am I? Who am I? What is going on in my world?  When I observe these moments of confusion, I reach out and gently touch him or put my arms around him.  He immediately recognizes my touch and responds with a gentle, I love you.  These moments are sweet and yet so difficult.  I know he’s changed and, on some level, he knows he’s changed.  Still, the human touch brings the emotions back for both of us and, for those few moments, we are communicating and we both feel safe.

On the days that the moods change and frustrations are high, a cruel monster steps out of the man I married. It can take a simple comment or expression from me that makes him yell, throw or kick objects at me.  He tells me that it is all my fault and that I have changed.   This is not the gentle man I married.  I don’t know him and don’t know how to communicate with him.  I try all responses and experience only more frustration.  Finally, I  ignore the outbursts and leave the room, hoping that this unfamiliar person doesn’t follow me.   It is during these moments that I want the stranger out of my home.

My lesson has been to focus on the good moments since I know they are fading fast for us as a couple.  I want to remember my loving husband and the good times we have had — not these challenging episodes with someone I only physically recognize but don’t know.  I must remain strong and, when given the opportunity in the early morning, reach out, hold him and hear him say, I love you.  I know, for that precious moment, we both feel safe and loved.  That’s what I want to remember.