JOAN’S BLOG – THUR/FRI., DECEMBER 27/28, 2012 – ALONE

Before I begin this blog, I must thank everyone for their kind and caring condolences on the death of my dear father. This last month has been a difficult one, as my father’s final decline, moves from the Assisted Living to the hospital, and then to the nursing home, took my full concentration. Website and Etsy work were put on the sidelines, and wonderful friends looked after Sid, so I was able to spend most of my time with my father.  I am now back to all of my jobs – my website, Etsy, and caregiving for my Alzheimer husband.

I found the most difficult part of my father’s death to be the realization that I am unequivocally, truly alone in life. Not because my father died, but because I no longer have my husband to comfort and support me during difficult times. I was holding my father’s hand, speaking to him soothingly when he passed quietly away. The first person I called, was, of course, my sister.  I gave her the job of calling our step-brother, who then handled all of the out of State funeral arrangements.  If my life had been the same as it had been until 7 years ago, the second person I would have called would have been my husband. He would have dropped what he was doing, driven to the nursing home, held me in his arms, comforted me, and been by my side through everything that was to transpire for the next week.

But my husband is lost to Alzheimer’s Disease. He lives in the moment, his moment, and forgets those moments as soon as they occur. He was in Day Care, and I knew there was no reason to call him. I called my cousin, who lives near me, left the nursing home, went home, and made airline arrangements alone. I called Medicaid to get their approval for more respite time, then called the respite home where Sid was to be staying while I was out of town. I desperately craved the warm loving arms of my husband, his comforting words, his support. I needed my husband, the one who had been there for me in trying times, seemingly since I was barely an adult.

When he came home from Day Care, I told him what had happened. He was sad, because he loved my father, but his main concern was when I was going away and when I would return. I could see his stress level rise, as his fear of being without me set in. He asked at least 5 times within half an hour when he was going to “the place”; when I was going to RI; when I was coming home; when I was picking him up from “the place”. I did the unthinkable. I completely lost my cool, screaming at him to stop asking. Then I typed out the itinerary in huge font and taped the paper to his walker. I understood he was stressed, but his Alzheimer behavior, which included no words of comfort for me, sent me head first into the wall of realization. My warm, caring, loving Sid was gone, was not coming back, and I was never going to receive his strong support ever again. I was as alone as I had been when I was a young, single girl.

And yet, as often happens with this strange disease, there was a minute, just a minute, when he came out of his Alzheimer fog, and did say to me that he felt badly that he could not travel to the funeral with me. He said that he should be there to comfort me, and that he was very upset that he was not able to do so. When it is Alzheimer’s Disease, we take what we can get, and that momentary statement meant as much to me as if he would actually remember saying it.

At the cemetery, I kept looking to my side for him. He was not there. Where I once felt loving arms supporting me, there was nothing but emptiness. When everyone returned to my step-brother’s house after the funeral, it was starkly obvious to me, for the first time since this Alzheimer journey began, that I was “single”. I was aware of the husband and wife couples and the “singles”.  It felt so strange to be on the single side of the fence after 42 years. It was lonely.

My step-brother took out a huge tub of pictures from years ago. The pictures of my father brought smiles to my face. What wonderful memories of a long life. It was the pictures of my once tall, handsome, strong husband that brought me to tears. I choked up and said how much I missed him.

At the hotel, and in the airport, I was addressed as “Miss”. I used to balk at being addressed as “M’am”, thinking it denoted old age. But “Miss”?  That denotes singleness.  I am an Alzheimer Spouse, which, as this trip demonstrated, means I am single and I am alone. And I need to get used to it.

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©Copyright 2012 Joan Gershman
The Alzheimer Spouse LLC
2012 All Rights Reserved
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