JOAN’S BLOG – HALLOWEEN WEEKEND – OCTOBER 29-31, 2010 – LIVING IN AN ALZHEIMER’S HAUNTED HOUSE

I am not sure why, but I made it to adulthood without ever touring a Haunted House for Halloween. It wasn’t until my son was 3 years old that I attempted my first one. Unfortunately, as we neared the entrance, he was frightened by the children leaving the exhibit who were crying. That was the end of that until he was 9 years old, when we toured what turned out to be the first and last Haunted House I would ever voluntarily visit. He loved it, but it scared the life out of me, which subjected me to endless ridicule from him and my husband for years.

As Halloween approaches this year, I was thinking about how Alzheimer’s Disease has forced me to live in a haunted house anyway. It does not have skeletons, zombies, and witches jumping out at me from every corner. What it does have is the ghost of the husband I used to know, before Alzheimer’s Disease changed him forever. His ghost is everywhere – in my thoughts; my dreams; and my eyes when I look at and talk to the man who looks like him.

When he is sitting in his recliner watching television, I see the ghost of the man with whom I used to discuss the news, politics, and crime shows. Now he does not understand nor remember what he watches.

When I ask him if he wants supper; if he wants to go to the store; if he wants to go to the movies, I see the ghost of the man who used to answer me with a definitive opinion on what his desires were. Now, after at least 5 minutes of silence, the answer I get is, “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

When he is sleeping, I look at his tranquil face and see the ghost of the man who used to wake up full of ideas and ambition for the day. Now he would stay in bed all day with nothing on his mind if I allowed it.

When he is sitting most reluctantly in the passenger seat of the car, I see the ghost of the man who used to drive me everywhere, while I did not have to worry about directions, traffic, or road fatigue. Now he sits silently fuming that he is not driving or angrily criticizes my every move.

When he gets into bed at night, I see the ghost of the man who used be consumed with passion for me, and I remember the intimacy we shared.

I did not stand in line to voluntarily enter this haunted house. I found myself involuntarily imprisoned in it by Alzheimer’s Disease.

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