JOAN’S BLOG – TUES/WED. SEPTEMBER 4/5, 2012 – DON’T CRY FOR ME

It is no secret that during the 3 years of bizarre behavior before my husband’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease and the 6 years since the diagnosis, I have cried rivers of tears. I have cried for our lost relationship and our lost future together. I have cried for the loss of the caring, compassionate, strong, kind, loving man I married. I have cried from the stress and anxiety I have endured because of his Alzheimer induced tantrums, rages, verbal abuse and anger. I have cried from the overwhelming burden of caregiving. I have cried for the unfairness of my husband being taken away from me. I have cried countless times – “I want my husband back! Damn you, Alzheimer’s Disease – give me back my husband!”  All to no avail, of course. Alzheimer’s Disease does not give back what it takes. The caregiver has to learn to live with the losses and tears.

Recently however, I have come to realize that the tears I have shed for myself have been for the wrong person. It was a visit from a dear friend that changed my thinking. During our 35 years of friendship, she and I have been there for each other through countless life tragedies and a few triumphs. We had not seen each other since I moved to Florida 6 years ago. She is a very emotional person, and together we have made more than one lake from our tears over the years. I was a bit concerned that she was going to “lose it” when she saw Sid, but she behaved like the trouper she is. Positive, upbeat, and loving, never shedding a tear in front of him.

When she returned home, she e-mailed me that it was for me she cried in private. Long and hard. For many months. That is when I realized that her tears and mine have been misplaced. So far, I am relatively healthy. I certainly have my mind and faculties in place. I have friends and family who care about me, who help me out when they are able. Although it is not the one I planned with my husband, I have a future.  It will undoubtedly be different and much lonelier than I had anticipated, but at least I have one. Not so, my husband.

It is for him we should be shedding tears. I watch him struggling to get up from a chair; to put one foot in front of the other; to keep his balance when he is standing. I watch as he becomes confused when trying to hang up a pair of shorts in the closet. The shorts have fallen off of the hanger, and he is unable to figure out how to put them back on the hanger. I try to be patient as he asks me to remind him to comb his hair before we leave the house; then asks 5 minutes later if he has combed his hair. I listen as he calls me into the den to start, pause, or stop a recorded program, because the man who was the whiz who hooked up every piece of electronic equipment known to man, is unable to work the DVR. My heart breaks as he tells me how depressed he is that he can no longer help me with the physical work around the house.

It is for him we should be crying. Don’t cry for me – I am physically and mentally whole. I will survive to have a future. He will not.

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