JOAN’S BLOG – TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2008 – THE TRAUMA OF LOOKING INTO THE FUTURE

When Sid and I were married just a year and a half, his 61 year-old father died suddenly, taking with him the dreams he and Sid’s mother had made for their retirement – enjoying life, traveling, playing with future grandchildren. His unexpected death altered the way we planned our own lives. We decided not to put off traveling until retirement, because we could not be sure if either of us would live to retire. In light of Sid’s Alzheimer Disease, which started at age 58, was diagnosed at age 63, coupled with the diabetic condition that limits his mobility, the decision turned out to be a wise one. He still carries the memories, if not the specifics, of our adventures(This is us at Parrot Jungle Island, Miami, FL), and they will always be with me.

I was barely 23 years old, madly in love, with no thought of ever being without my new husband, until his father died.  His death made me realize how tenuous life is, and it gave me a rock solid appreciation for the mere presence of my husband. I would lie awake at night, watching him breathe, and think how traumatic and unbearable it would be if he were to die. The years passed, we built a wonderful life together, and I stopped worrying about him dying.

Until Alzheimer’s Disease struck. I try desperately to live one day at a time, tackling today’s problems and challenges, and not thinking ahead to what it will be like for us as the disease worsens. But lately, perhaps because of the death of so many of our members’ spouses, I have found myself reaching out for him in the night, as I did so many years ago, to make sure he is still with me. Yes, Alzheimer’s Disease has changed him, lessened his abilities, altered his perception and reasoning, but with the new anti-depressant medication, his love, care, and concern for me has resurfaced, and we are able to enjoy each other again - for now. We lie in each other’s arms, and I hold on tight, thinking how heartbreaking it will be when the light fades from his eyes, replaced by the blankness of advanced Alzheimer’s disease. I think about how lonely I will be when the day comes that I can no longer care for him at home, and we have to live apart. I think about how alone I will be when he succumbs to the disease.

This kind of thinking is nothing less than self-destructive and useless, so I do hope I am finished with it. I am taking a deep breath, willing myself to return to my “One Day at a Time” philosophy, and trying to enjoy the time we do have together while he is still functional, and Celexa - assisted pleasant.

MESSAGE BOARD TOPIC: The Trauma of Looking into the Future

©Copyright 2008 Joan Gershman

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