When I was in Rhode Island last weekend attending to family business, I had a frightening glimpse into the possible future with my AD husband.

My father remarried 6 years after my mother died at the age of 49 from lung cancer. I was 28 years old, married, and the mother of a 2 year old, at the time of the wedding. He married a woman who, rather than try to replace the mother I lost, became the friend I needed. She came with a son the same age as my sister, so she gave us the gift of a brother we had always wanted.  For 3 decades, we were friends and confidantes. She was always there when I needed a helping hand, a museum trolling buddy, a book swapper, and much to my father’s dismay, a QVC shopping partner.

I saw her this past August, and in November she had a massive stroke. My sister, who lives in Chicago, flew to RI in November, but this weekend was the first time I had seen my stepmother since before the stroke. When I walked into the hospital room (she is battling pneumonia), she lifted one arm, and her eyes acknowledged my sister, who also flew in for the weekend.  She looked right through me as if I were a stranger. There was no recognition on her face. I was not prepared for the pain I felt. It was irrational on my part, I know, but I was deeply hurt. I felt as if I did not exist. As if our history had been obliterated. And then I was hit with a double whammy. If I was that hurt by her lack of recognition, how devastated will I be if Alzheimer’s Disease erases my husband’s memory of me?  

In one short moment, I understood the anguish you have written about when your spouse no longer recognizes you. It is a sorrow no one could understand unless they have experienced it. I admonished myself for ever thinking I could empathize with your emotions when eyes you have known and loved for years stare through you with blankness.

My stepmother does not have Alzheimer’s Disease. Her comprehension of what is being said to her is mostly intact, although she is unable to answer coherently. And her recollection of me returned as soon as I hugged and kissed her. Tears flowed freely from both of us.

But my husband? Once he loses his memory of me, will it ever return? Will it come and go as many of his abilities do now? It is not something I ever looked forward to, but after my glimpse into the future last weekend, it is an occurrence I now truly dread.

Feedback to joan@thealzheimerspouse.com

©Copyright 2010 Joan Gershman 
The Alzheimer Spouse LLC
2010 All Rights Reserved                                  
Under penalty of copyright laws, this information cannot be copied or posted on any website, media, or print outlet, without referencing the author and website from which it was taken.

 The material included on this website contains general information intended as information only. This site is not intended to provide personal, professional, medical, or psychological advice, and should not be relied upon to govern behavior in any certain or particular circumstances. The opinions in the blogs are solely those of the owner of the website. The opinions on the message boards are not necessarily endorsed by the owner of this website, and are the opinions of those persons writing the messages. All material on this web site is for demonstration and informational purposes only.           

The Alzheimer Spouse LLC 2009 All Rights Reserved