The old pilot is heading westward, the glow of the setting sun turning the silver wings of his aircraft to gold, the arc of his life trailing behind him in memories forever lost.

And yet somehow he knows the way like a migrating bird knows the way. It is an instinct above and beyond the damage done to his brain by Alzheimer’s.

He is not yet on final approach, but the time for that will come sooner than later, and in his soul he knows it.

With a deft hand and the light touch borne of years of experience, he aligns his craft with the runway far in the distance. The runway, too, glows gold.

The runway is not an earthly tarmac, it’s a skyway to the stars that flows ever forward to the far reaches of the universe and on past time itself.

Like birds that must answer the call to migrate, we must all answer the call of this journey … from birth to death, from dust to stardust.

The old pilot smiles, his face aglow with the setting sun.

He is finally going home.

One chilly morning, seven years ago this month, Bob could not find the drawer in which his underwear had been kept for years. Uh-oh, I thought, this is definitely not good. Then began a series of doctor visits and tests that would culminate in his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease on July 5, 2001.

I’ve read, and had it confirmed by Bob’s neurologist, that the disease typically starts several years before the actual diagnosis. And, sure enough, there were clues along the way, but subtle enough that I didn’t pick up on them, having never before been around anyone with AD.

In February 1995, when Bob and I were first together, one day he told me he could no longer do numbers in his head like he used to be able to do. If I had been wise to Alzheimer’s, I might have picked up on that as an early sign that something wasn’t right, but he was still functioning normally in every other respect, so I didn’t catch that clue.

Of course, getting diagnosed with AD early in the illness does not mean a person will be cured of it. But starting the meds early will slow the progression of the disease, in effect buying time in case more effective meds come down the pike.

At present, although there is no cure, and although there is no firm agreement yet on what causes the disease, there is hope. Research and clinical trials are on-going, and sooner or later, treatments and/or medications will be found to halt the illness, reverse it, or even better, prevent it altogether.

That hope is a tiny light in a long, dark tunnel. But it’s something to hang onto anyway.

Last night I woke to a sound that at first I couldn’t identify, then a split second later I realized Bob was whispering a phrase over and over. Then he switched to another phrase, still whispering. I can’t recall what he was saying, just the sound of his whispers in the night.

He is drifting away into a world of his own, and yet there still are moments of connection with me, such as yesterday evening when I stood by his chair, held his hand and smiled at him. All at once he brightened with recognition and, smiling back, said, “Suzy!” And then he said, “I love you.”

Today I called Dish Network and totally cancelled our account. Several weeks ago I unplugged everything related to the TV, because having it on had become too upsetting for Bob. For some time now, he’s been unable to follow any type of program, even one as simple as the Andy Griffith Show. What happens is that for someone with Alzheimer’s, what’s on TV can appear to be reality. If they see a fire, say, on the news or in a show, they’re likely to think the fire is right there in front of them. As for me, I haven’t even missed watching TV; there are better ways to waste time!

Happy Merry New Christmas Year!

“Letting Go: The valuable lesson Sandra Day O’Connor has taught us about Alzheimer’s,” by Patti Davis
http://www.newsweek.com/id/70463

“Nursing Home Infidelity Bittersweet but Common” by Rebecca Dube
From GlobeLife at Globe and Mail, Nov 15, 07
http://tinyurl.com/2h62zc

 F A D I N G 

A couple of evenings ago, Bob said, “Everything is fading away.” Then he said, “I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Moments of clarity like these are painful for him, of course. Those of us without
the disease can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to actually sense the deterioration of the brain. I sure hope I never have to know.

Some spiritual advisors/leaders/etc. admonish people to live in the “now,” which can be helpful. However, people with Alzheimer’s are living in the “now” all right, but it’s a miserable “now.” It occurs to me that without our memories, without our past, without the integration of our past into the present, there really is no “now” in which to truly LIVE. Bob’s “now” contains no way to know where he is, no way to recall most of his life’s events and accomplishments, no way to remember a lot of the people that he would most surely want to remember and be in touch with if he could. He has lost himself in the most fundamental way. All of the advice out there about how to live one’s live flies out the window when AD enters the picture. Bob had a beautiful life; I wish he could remember it.

About three weeks ago, almost all of Bob’s anxiety and paranoia suddenly lifted and has been minimal to non-existent ever since. His anxiety had started three years ago this month and had been severe most of the time since its inception. Because the anxiety and paranoia have greatly diminished, I’ve been able to dramatically reduce the dosage of the pills he takes for anxiety and paranoia (and hallucinations) and eliminate another one entirely. He still sleeps/naps a lot, but seems more relaxed now that he’s far less anxious. In the evenings, he often still has a little bit of anxiety and sometimes some paranoia, which is common among people with AD. It’s called “Sundowning” when it occurs in the evening.

Late this morning when I was taking Bob to the bathroom, he said, “I want to die.”

Imagine yourself in a situation where you feel totally confused, you do not know where you are, you don’t know why you’re being asked to do something, you don’t always know who your loved ones are, you’re not even sure who you are. On top of all that, you don’t feel well, you feel worn out, exhausted.

No wonder he said he wants to die.