All We Have Is Today

A huge part of the individual Alzheimer's experience, as least from the vantage point of a couple dealing with early onset of the disease, is the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Someone once said, "When you have seen one case of Alzheimer's Disease, you have seen one case of Alzheimer's Disease." Clearly the meaning is that all cases are different. A reading of individual stories and hearing experiences of friends, fellow recipients and care partners gives one the full panorama of possibilities. On the one hand, there is the well known member of our community who has been bedridden, incoherent. and totally dependent on others for years. He recognizes no one and says little that makes any sense. There is the story of a mother of a friend of ours who until her last moment was friendly, kind, talkative and interested in life although she had no idea of her family and children. They were all blank slates to her. There is the story of our neighbor who was diagnosed on one day and passed away of the disease a year later. There are too many stories of spouses who have of a sudden morphed from the kind and gentle mate to an uncontrollable, angry, and dangerous person, needing to be shut away from others for fear of harm or injury to himself or others. And there are those who find themselves in rest homes and care facilities, no longer able to care for themselves or recognize family or spouse, becoming romantically entangled with someone else. And last of all is the story of someone whose spouse is in a rest home. He visits her regularly but spends a lot of time at dances and other social events basically hustling companionship.

We see and hear about these stories all the time. As Kathryn is recognized on the streets, at the gym, at the grocery store or wherever, people feel free to come over to congratulate her for her strength, courage and openness and to share their stories with her or us. None have happy endings, but some are simply devastating. Here he stand on this side at the gate, enjoying life to the fullest, but also waiting for the train to pick us up for some unfamiliar, unknown destination. We talk often about the future. Kathryn sometimes obsesses about the it and, depending on my lifespan, whether or not I will marry. I keep reminding her that such a discussion is irrelevant. Then I buttress that irrelevancy by proclaiming in the most loving terms I can muster that I find that thought repugnant and outside the bounds of possibility. It is unthinkable.

Well, why do I write about this particular theme now. Alzheimer's is ever present in our lives. But this morning, after a difficult, strenuous exercise stint at the nearby Lions Recreation Center, skirting the bedlam below where children in four different games attempted to play basketball accompanied by the screams of family, friends, coaches and team mates, we went to the local Fresh Market to pick up a few items. After a long pause in our conversation and as we left the building, Kathryn glanced over to me and said, smilingly, "All we have is today." "No," I said. "All we have is today, our memories, and hope." And, I will add to that, Each Other!