After 67 years, you would expect to build many good memories together, including stories about your life your kids still laugh about and share. Bob was a dentist and Peggy ran a health food store. Their son Mark remembers having carob cake instead of chocolate at his birthday party. He also remembers trying to persuade classmates to trade lunches, but no one ever took him up on his freshly-ground peanut butter sandwich with no added sugar. Go figure.
But even a lifetime full of memories can be pushed aside or lost completely. It started with a stroke. Bob went to the hospital for five days and when he came home, Peggy didn’t recognize him. Not because he had changed, but because what was likely Alzheimer’s had slowly progressed in her brain and on that day, it convinced her that this older man sitting in her bedroom was not her beloved husband of six decades. “It’s your husband,” her daughter-in-law Katie said. “No, it’s not,” she answered. Luckily, she eventually believed it was him again. At least for a little while.
As their health declined, they eventually moved into assisted living. Bob was starting to hallucinate and have his own memory issues. He wouldn’t let the staff care for his wife, because it was his job, he said, but he wasn’t able to safely help her bathe or get dressed. Sometimes in the middle of the night, one of them would wake up and get upset because they didn’t recognize the other person in the bed next to them. Their kids decided to give them twin beds, which seemed to help, but there would still be times Bob would wander down the hallway at night in his pajamas, trying to find a caregiver to ask them who the stranger was sleeping in his bedroom.
Bob was eventually diagnosed with Lewy body dementia. He and Peggy moved into a memory care facility, but in two different rooms so the staff could care for Peggy without Bob getting upset. They enjoyed each other’s company at meals, but when they were back in their rooms, they didn’t ask where the other one was. It’s hard to imagine after 67 years, you could forget the person you love is down the hallway, sleeping in another room. But that’s what dementia does. It erases a lifetime of memories, slowly but mercilessly.
Bob passed away a few weeks ago with his family around him. Mark brought Peggy into his room to say goodbye, not knowing what to expect. “Is he dead?” she asked. He told her yes. She reached for Bob’s hand, kissed it, and said, “I love you.” And for a short while, the memories of the life they had together was back again.
Peggy still has her good days, days when she can hold a conversation with her family that makes sense. Last week, she was sitting outside with Katie and Mark, enjoying the garden at the facility. She looked over at her son and asked, “Where’s your dad?”
Mark and Katie waited a few seconds, trying to figure out how to answer that question.
“Mom, remember he passed away the other night?” Mark said.
“Well, I didn’t know that,” she answered.
“Remember, you were holding his hand?” Mark said.
“Oh yeah, I remember now,” she said.
She hasn’t asked since.
This week, family and friends are flying in from all over, gathering to remember Bob’s life and share stories about who he was and what he meant to them. Peggy will be there, and the family hopes she will be okay during the service. It’s hard to know what to expect with Alzheimer’s. Katie has baked 15 pies for the funeral, including blueberry, Bob’s favorite. “He always liked my pies,” she said.
“This has all been so much harder than I thought it would be,” Mark told her the other night. She agrees. Until you’ve walked in someone else’s shoes, it’s hard to understand what it’s like caring for a loved one with dementia, much less two.
Join us Saturday, September 30 at 9 a.m. at Yavapai College for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s. Start or join a team, donate online or just come out and walk with us so we can help find a cure. The memories you save might be your own.
Prescott-area resident Kelly Paradis will be walking in memory of her mother, Jane. Find out more at www.alz.org/quadicitieswalk.