Alzheimers is a slow march of identity loss for the sufferer and drawn out departure from your loved one for the family. “I lost something…” he says to me. He is only 76 years old and has a hard time remembering where he is or why he is in a memory care unit. “I need to go home now.” He says.
We try to help him cope, distracting him from the immediate anxiety of his current thoughts. Once in a while he tells us of his occupation, his children, his honors received in a life well lived. Then he disappears again and looks right through his daughter while she is distraught because he doesn’t know her today. Tomorrow he not only remembers her name in her absence, but tries to call her and is angry she is not taking him home. He is confused and some days he tells me just that. “I have Alzheimer’s.” He says. “Yes, I know.” I say. “It’s why I am here I guess.” He says. “Yes.” I say and smile.
On Friday, the daughter sells his house to help finance his stay in an Alzheimer’s care unit. His new family are similar seniors with different stages of identity loss, health failings and departure from all they knew in their life. Some of these men and women are or were rich, some not so much, and many were successful at jobs, at parenting, or at creating a lasting impression on someone who passed through their days on this earth. The farmer, the nurse, the engineer, the teacher, the dancer, the mother, the construction worker, the grandmother…they are here. You have met them all in your life.
Waiting with them, helping them and their families try and cope with small events of changing consciousness daily. Some days are heavy through our hearts all the way through our feet as we try to sooth these unknowing cotton-haired friends. In all ways unfair to witness or experience, we seek a way to cope with those lost in Alzheimer’s dementia. Keeping them safe, preserving some dignity, offering a witness to their slow disappearance is what I do as a caregiver.
sherrystruthtofiction 