He Doesn't Know My Name

Daybreak Adult Care is beginning a new series of feature articles that chronicle the experiences of those caring for loved ones with Alzheimer’s disease.  Read more entries by clicking the BLOG link at www.daybreakcare.com

In the room next to this one sits the man with whom I’ve spent the last forty-five years building a life.  We are a love story.  We are a family story.  We are a tale of triumphs and challenges, births and deaths, gains and losses.  We are two people who decided many years ago to place bands on our fingers and meet each year that circled round together.

 Just like any couple, we’ve made our share of mistakes and we’ve experienced the highs and lows that are common to us all.  But, I’m proud of the fact that whatever life brought to our doorstep, we’ve faced it head on.  Now, as I make my way each day through the life we have called home for so many years, the we has turned to I.   

The man I’ve called husband for so long is still in this house but he can’t recall any of the memories it holds.  He can’t reminisce with me about those early, romantic days when we were young and the world seemed so full of potential for both of us.  He can’t squeeze my hand as we talk about the strong, solid people our children have grown into, how they’ve made their own lives, their own families. 

As a matter of fact, he can barely talk at all, doesn’t know my name, doesn’t even know his own. This man who once was an important figure in his field, who was responsible for so many people; doesn’t remember how to put on his shoes, doesn’t remember the simple motion of spoon and dish and hands.  My husband, like so many others, is in the last stage of a disease that instead of claiming its victims all at once, take them one small and vital portion at a time.  My husband is in the final stage of Alzheimer’s disease. 

These final chapters of our life as man and wife have not been easy ones to write.  But, they aren’t ones that I’ve had to complete on my own.  When the first signs of dementia begin surfacing and Frank was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, we knew we had to face this illness with the determination and spirit that we have given to all of life’s challenges.  Even though we were both standing in a storm of emotions - sometimes anger, sometimes sadness, sometimes denial that anything was wrong at all; we committed to learning all we could about the disease and planning for our future in the best way we knew how.    

I’m so thankful that we had some of those early, pivotal conversations about the future that we would be facing.  I’m comforted knowing that even though he can no longer speak with me, I am carrying on and making the decisions for him that I know he wanted.  This has meant a lot to me as we have gone through so many changes in the last few years.  It has also meant a lot to our children and friends whom we talked openly with about what to expect and what our plans were. 

I know many of you are facing something a lot like what I have been experiencing.  You may be at a different point in your journey and you may have made different decisions from the ones I have.  You may be having emotions or experiencing circumstances that are very different from mine.  But, I want you to know that you are not alone.

  I want you to know that there are people all over the world and people right here in our community who are learning how to handle life with Alzheimer’s.  There are resources and organizations that can help you better care for the one you love and better care for yourself.  I’m looking forward to telling you more about my experiences and the things I’ve learned that I hope will help you too.  Talk to you soon. . .

From My Home to Yours,

Gayle