The Pros and Cons of Alzheimer’s
Juliette Guth
I welcome you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen
Now, as I lean on my crutch of Christianity, I’m going to walk you through the memories on my pathway, in the land that Alzheimer’s has forgotten.
“Just forget it!” one of my daughters shouts at me, as I once again head out the door; the same door she welcomed me through, a couple hours ago.
The same door through which I passed as she covered me with kisses and hugs, and thanked me for coming to help her clean.
It’s the same door through which I passed while carrying out the trash and shoveling off her porch.
“Just forget it,” she shouts, and slams the door behind me. I notice that it flies open again because the latch doesn’t work; and I hope I can remember to ask Jon to fix her door.
Alzheimer’s hasn’t caught me by surprise. After all, I am my father’s daughter.
My mom died when she was 85, and you could ask her anything, and she would remember. But my dad’s mind was completely gone; long before social security came knocking at his door.
My folks had been divorced since I was nineteen; but I can still hear my mother’s sigh, “You’re just like your father.” My heart thrilled; I loved being just like my father. Now I close my eyes, and I can see my mother’s face. Then I open them again, and wonder who that lady was.
I am just like my father, and I am the beneficiary of the legacy of
love that time forgot.
Alzheimer’s is dancing on the fringes of my mind! But I can’t remember the tune.
My husband hugs me, and says, “Just forget it. Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing we can do about it, so just forget it.”
A little over two years ago, we had been down to visit my twin sister, Judy. Other family members were there; and I watched as Mary bustled about, setting the table and serving up the food. Everyone was exclaiming what a wonderful girl Mary was. And we all enjoyed her visit and welcomed her help. I was fascinated by her beauty, and her laughter; and watched as she bustled around the room.
Then on our way home that night, something was tugging at my mind. “Whose kid is Mary, anyway?” I ask my husband, “Judy’s or Sherries?” I’m mad at myself for not remembering. He reached out his hand and touched me as he answered, “It doesn’t matter honey, just forget it.” He was right, so I closed my eyes and let him drive in peace.
Later, at home, I remembered my frustration and asked again, “Whose kid is Mary anyway, Judy’s or Sherries, I still can’t remember?” Then he wrapped his arms around me, and with tears in his eyes, he answered, “She’s our kid honey, she’s our kid.”
One of my kids yells at me, “Get off your high horse. You’re not that dumb. Oh you make me so mad! Just forget it!”
So I climb on my horse called “Forget It” and I try to ride my memory home.
The girls had discussed that Alzheimer’s thing a couple years ago; and they are in agreement. “Mom sees some quack and now she thinks she has Alzheimer’s!”
It cost $200 an hour to get tested by that quack! In a room without windows, they ask what season it is. I don’t know the answer; but I hope it’s not slippery when I leave. I’m getting nervous about the kind of questions they use, to trip me up.
Trick questions like: “What day is it? What month? Do you know if it’s daytime now or night time?” They try to trip me up with those trick questions! “How many kids do you have?” they ask. I answer four, and then correct myself and say five. I still have my son in my heart.
“Where do you work?” I name two churches in
“What streets are they
on?” I answer that they’re both on the
same street,
Then they ask what I do there and I answer, “I’m the custodian, and sometimes I do sermons.” And they shake their heads in bewilderment.
I’m still nervous about the weather outside. Then suddenly I remember something; “It’s spring!” I shout. “I just bought impatiens to plant by the window.”
Then I get impatient with the questions. Of course I can remember. I’d like to forget that I ever came in here for testing. Just think how many flowers you can buy for $200.
Before I leave, they offer me 3 kinds of meds that might keep that memory thing at bay. “What? Did I flunk the test? I thought I answered most of the questions right.”
The doctor says, “You can’t flunk this kind of test. But you didn’t really pass it either.” And he thinks I’m mixed up?
Then I learn, that my responses had been timed. Most people don’t take almost an hour to remember what season it is. Well, at least it wasn’t slippery when I left!
“Forget it!” They say I don’t have Alzheimer’s yet. But it’s on its way. Two years ago, it was starting. How long will it take? My husband says, “Forget it.” And I try to put it out of my mind.
One of the pros of Alzheimer’s, is, that I won’t remember if one of my kids gets mad at me. But so far, I am in the early stages, and I do remember some of these episodes.
One of the cons, is that I can’t forget what is happening to me. “You’re not that dumb Ma! Quit acting like you’re dumb!”
I’m having trouble in my twilight years, that I didn’t have…, in the sunshine of my youth.
I was in my twenties, as I watched my dad walk by. And my grandma looked at me as though I was a stranger, and announced, “That’s my husband.” I said gently, “No grandma. That’s not your husband, that’s your son.” She looked at me as if I had lost my mind; “I oughta’ know my own husband,” she exclaimed.
Now I hurry down the streets of tomorrow, looking for the back-roads of my life.
What does my future hold? Can it hold a candle, to the kisses that I cherish? Or does it hold a lock, to block my mind? Why can’t I forget, that I’m getting forgetful? My husband gently suggests, “Don’t worry about it. Just forget it.”
My kids say, “There are medicines you can take Ma!” But the medicines all say, “Except if you’ve ever had an ulcer!” Forget that! Ulcers have been my life’s companions. Now we’ve got Alzheimer’s for a friend.
As teenagers, my sisters and I had to take care of grandma, because she ‘was senile”. The word Alzheimer’s wasn’t in anyone’s vocabulary yet. She would sneak out of our lake house and go over to the Resort House. It was the home she lived in as a young bride, sixty years before. Whenever we couldn’t find her, we would head over to Mrs. Murphy’s and invariably, Mrs. Murphy would be walking grandma back home. One time when we were apologizing, Mrs. Murphy laughed,
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Your grandma made my beds, set the table and started our supper.” She understood grandma’s mixed up mind.
Eventually, grandma had to go to a home. My dad, on the other hand, continued to live with his wife Helen. And for the last six years of his life, he called her “Betty”, my mom’s name!
I still like to visit my kids. But I don’t go there much anymore.
“What did you do with my rings Ma? Where did you put them? You took ‘em! You know you did!” I think, “Did I?” “Did I move ‘em?” “Did I lose em? Where would I put ‘em?
“Why would I take your rings?” I ask. “You know I don’t like jewelry. Maybe one of the kids took them.”
“Some Christian you are,” my daughter shouts, “accusing a kid!”
We finally find one of the rings on the floor in the kid’s room. One is lost permanently, and one is still in the kid’s pocket. My own wedding and engage-ment set, the one I gave to her, is what the kid lost. Now I wonder and the wonder of forgetfulness.
My dad’s wife tells us, he went to the mailbox 20 times a day, looking for a letter from his kids. But you don’t think to send cards or letters, when you live just up the road. We visited a lot, but he never remembered that we were there.
If I had sent notes or cards, he would have had something tangible…something to look at 20 times a day.
But maybe not. I looked at one of the Christmas cards I got this year; and I told my husband, “I don’t know anyone named Pat.” Then he said, “She’s your friend at the gas station. You stop in and see her every day.”
I used to look forward to the whispers of the kisses, that my small children gave to me. Now I wonder at the thunder of the kisses I have missed, as my adult children, turn their backs in disgust. And one of them shouts, “Don’t act so dumb, Mother!”
I am my father’s daughter! Are you, your mother’s son?
Just a couple of weeks ago,
the secretary at the
Now why can I remember, to write these things down? I don’t know!
I’m learning about Alzheimer’s as I’m struggling to keep it at bay. On page eleven, I find I have put a line in the middle and made it an H.
The other day, I asked my husband if he’d like a coke. He answers, “You can bring me two.” Then I grab my Mountain Dew out of the fridge, and go crawl in bed to watch the Milwaukee Bucks with him. He quietly gets out of bed. I ask “Where are you going?” And he answers – “To get those two cokes you were going to bring me.” I’m devastated. How could I forget his sodas, when I’m looking right at them? He laughs and says, “Forget it!” “No problem there.” I answer.
Why do I forget to remember? And why… am I able to remember that I forget? I suddenly think, “May an elephant caress you with his toes.” And I wonder if I wrote that. Suddenly I remember, it’s a verse in a song – “May the Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose.” And I didn’t write it! I don’t care for music. Then suddenly I know why I remembered it. I like humor. And it’s funny!
But loosing my grasp of reality isn’t really funny.
I tie up my horse named “Forget It” and I struggle to get my newspaper column written. I do every kind of word thing I can, to keep the hounds of my memory at bay; and the watch dogs from biting my butt!
There was a time when I could write for hours and never need a dictionary. Now I struggle to find the spelling of a word in my mind; and I’m not sure where I put my dictionary. One day, I found it in the laundry basket. Does that make me a basket case?
I have sixteen grandkids and six great-grandkids. I have two grand dogs and a grand bird. None of them seem to mind that I’m loosing my mind. I call my grand dog Kewee and suddenly remember… “That’s the bird’s name.” Yet the whole time the dog is here, he comes when I call “Kewee” and he is happy to see me.
“Kewee – you wanna’ go outside? Here Kewee – you can finish grandpa’s toast.”
Then I tie up the dog I call Kewee and he doesn’t seem to care that grandma doesn’t know his name. And he slobbers me with kisses when they leave.
One of my daughters has purchased a book about a parent with Alzheimer’s. I see it in her bathroom when I clean. I want to look at it, but I’m afraid to. Later my daughter announces, “I bought a book about Alzheimer’s and I’m gonna’ let my sisters read it.” “Do you want to read it Ma? Oh forget it. Then you just might act dumber than you already do.”
Secretly, I hope she finishes reading that book, before she looses it in her messy house, when I forget to come and clean.
Alzheimer’s is dancing on the fringes of my mind, but I can’t remember the tune. My head is aching. I grab a couple of Tylenol, and reach for my can of Mountain Dew. Then I cry, as I pour it in my hand.
Pastor Paul wanted me to write the Pros and Cons of Alzheimer’s. And as I try to finish this sermon, I find that Satan seeks destruction in the salad of my days; and I’m glad that Jesus is the lettuce of my life.
The only pros to having Alzheimer’s, is that if I drive off without paying for my gas…my friend knows I’ll be back again tomorrow. The cons are locked away like the thieves that have stolen my memory.
Alzheimer’s is dancing on the fringes of my mind, and the music is driving me crazy.
But the light of recognition, of the situation, has turned on for my daughter. She now hugs me and gently says, “Don’t worry. If you can’t remember anymore, just forget about it.”
So I lean on my crutch of Christianity – and I am comforted by the words of my grandson, Nollie who has Down syndrome ….
“Scairt” “Scairt gramma” “Scairt”
Amen