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| Joe with Grandson Calvin in 1996 |
It’s Thursday morning, and Joe is still asleep. He seems to sleep a lot these days. I understand this is part of the changes his brain is going through, but I wonder if I should wake him. We don’t have anything scheduled this morning so there isn’t any compelling reason. Besides, he’s had a stressful last few days with the surgery, and all the stitches in his face. I know it isn’t anything to worry about. He’ll recover soon, maybe even without much of a scar. I’m just happy it’s over and the cancer is gone.
If only there
was a cure for Al that was this simple.
I can envision
the scenario in my mind: Joe rolling out
of an operating room with several nurses attending. They’re laughing and joking with him about
the number they’ve just done on Al. I
rush to Joe and hover over him while he lies propped up in a hospital bed with
his hands behind his head. He’s wide
awake and smiling and calls me “darling’” just like he used to. I ask him if he’s in pain. “No, but Al is a goner,” he tells me. “The doctor
sent him right back to the devil where he came from.” I feel a sense of relief that can only be
described as pure joy.
“Are you
sure? I mean, is Al really gone?”
Back to
Reality
From the
bedroom I hear Joe cough. He opens the
door, slowly walks into the kitchen, and sits at the bar.
“Good
morning Honey, would you like some coffee?” I ask. He looks at me with that familiar “what did
you say” expression, and I know Al is still very much with us. I ask him if he slept well and he begins to
tell me about little people that were coming at him in the bedroom. I’m not sure if he’s telling me about a dream
or it’s something he thinks actually happened.
The other day he told me he was being surrounded by people, all the
while pointing to the ceiling.
Seeing
something that isn’t actually there is normal and harmless if you are a child
with an imaginary friend, or you look up to see a face moving within the clouds,
or maybe even Elvis in a potato chip.
But it’s a whole other thing if you’re living with Al. Then it’s just another step in the
progression, and indicative of things to come.
It’s quite a dichotomy because Joe can seem perfectly functional, seeing
the same world that I see, but then without warning suddenly be at odds with
reality.
We’ll have
breakfast on the patio this morning.
The temperature is perfect, and because it’s a weekend there won’t be noisy
jets flying overhead. The only sounds we’ll
hear are from the hundreds of birds searching for their own breakfast on the
newly over-seeded lawn.
Joe will spend
a few minutes sweeping the patio, brushing away the little bits shed from the
trees the night before. This is one of
the tasks he seems to enjoy and will do without coaxing.
Late October
in the desert is the next thing to paradise, quite unlike what I remember as a child
in the Northwest where rain dominated the season. I looked at the calendar this morning, noting
the upcoming Halloween weekend, and was reminded of the all the times I’ve
spent making costumes. I’ve created getups
from May West to Zorro and Raggedy Ann to The Hulk. Joe was never into costumes, but he would
agree (as he would say, “just this once”) to participate. I dressed up the poor guy many times.
There are
few things Joe enjoyed more than seeing all the little kids from the
neighborhood in their Halloween dress up.
Two years ago and just a week after
Joe had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, we attended our daughter’s party as
Popeye and Olive Oil. I remember Popeye
didn’t say much that night.
That got me
thinking about what costume I could create for Al. At first I thought of something monstrous,
with red eyes cloaked in a hooded cape like a vampire. Then I thought maybe
more like a wolf, with long fangs.
But on
further consideration I decided Al should look like me, or you, or the millions of people struggling with the disease. Because Al isn’t some scary monster that you
can see. It’s an insidious disease
within that slowly tricks and robs a person of their self. Visit any memory care facility and you’ll know
what I mean.
When I think
back on all the changes that have happened over the past two years--different
state, house, car, life, really--there is one thing that is the same. Joe and I still love each other and this
Halloween, like all the others, we’ll have a bowl full of mini candy bars at
the door. We’re not likely to see any
trick or treaters but if that’s the case, we’ll have plenty of candy through December.
Never lose
your basket, hold it high
Look the
world straight in the eye and then
repeat “Trick or Treat”
