Through the Walls

Monday, July 05, 2004


Alzheimer's


Hello... first of all, I’d like to thank everyone who’s visited this Blog. I’m sincerely thankful.

I was reading the newspaper and I found an article that really called my attention - about Alzheimer- because my grandpa has that condition, and I want to know more about it. This condition is the most common type of dementia in people over the age of 65. It starts with short memory lapses. But in time, this loss of memory gets more severe and hinders the ability to do certain normal body functions and is why some fatal illnesses may attack more easily. People with this condition get paranoia, they’re afraid of almost everything, don’t recognize their close relatives or friends.

I remember a grandfather who was always happy, telling jokes, intelligent and lively. It is hard for me to believe, or accept, what is happening to him. Sometimes when I talk to him on the phone, I can’t hold back my tears because I notice how deteriorated he’s getting. And always, before ending our phone call, he asks me to bring him a gallon of milk. What wouldn’t I give to be able to bring him that gallon of milk and many more things.

I also imagine how hard this most be for my Grandma, battling with her husband’s condition, because she’s already older and has her ailments as well. The last time I talked to her, she told me that Grandpa wouldn’t get a haircut or go to the doctor, because he’s afraid of getting out of the house. I trust God will take care of both of them. Bye.

P.S.
Here is an article I read and really liked.

All I Remember

When my father spoke to me, he always began the conversation with “Have I told you yet today how much I adore you?”. The expression of love was reciprocated and, in his later years, as his life began to visibly end, we grew even closer... if that were possible.

At 82 he was ready to die, and I was ready to let him go so that his suffering would end. We laughed and cried, and held hands and told each other of our love and agreed that it was time. I said, “Dad, after you’ve gone, I want a sign from you that you’re fine”. He laughed at the absurdity of that; Dad didn’t believe in reincarnation. I wasn’t positive I did either, but I had had many experiences that convinced me I could get some signal from “the other side”.

My father and I were so deeply connected, I felt his heart attack in my chest at the moment he died. Later I mourned that the hospital, in their sterile wisdom, has not let me hold his hand as he had slipped away.

Day after day I prayed to hear from him, but nothing happened. Night after night I asked for a dream before I fell asleep. And yet, four long months passed and I heard and felt nothing but grief at his loss. Mother had died five years before, of Alzheimer’s, and though I had grown daughters of my own, I felt like a lost child.

One day, while I was lying on a massage table in a dark quiet room waiting for my appointment, a wave of longing for my father swept over me. I began to wonder if I had been too demanding in asking for a sign from him. I noticed that my mind was in a hyper-acute state. I experienced an unfamiliar clarity in which I could have added long columns of figures in my head. I checked to make sure I was awake and not dreaming, and I saw that I was as far removed from a dreamy state as one could possibly be. Each thought I had was like a drop of water disturbing a still pond, and I marveled at the peacefulness of each passing moment. Then I thought, “I’ve been trying to control the messages from the other side; I will stop tat now”.

Suddenly my mother’s face appeared – my mother, as she had been before Alzheimer’s disease had stripped her of her mind, her humanity and 50 pounds. Her magnificent silver hair crowned her sweet face. She was so real and so close, I felt I could reach out and touch her. She looked as she had, a dozen years ago, before the wasting away had begun. I even smelled the fragrance of Joy, her favorite perfume. She seemed to be waiting and did not speak. I wondered how it could happen that I was thinking of my father and my mother appeared, and I felt a little guilty that I had not asked for her as well.

I said, “Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry that you had to suffer with that horrible disease”.

She tipped her head slightly to one side, as though to acknowledge what I had said about her suffering. Then she smiled – a beautiful smile – and said very distinctly, “But all I remember is Love”. And she disappeared.

I began to shiver in a room suddenly gone cold, and I knew in my bones that the love we give and receive is all that matters and all that is remembered. Suffering disappears; love remains.

Her words are the most important I have ever heard, and that moment is forever engraved on my heart.

I have not yet seen or heard from my father, but I have no doubt that some day, when I least expect it, he will appear and say, “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

posted by P.M., 1:00 PM Email This Post

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