About a year ago I decided it would be helpful to have a physical identifying bond with W. It was something that I hoped would help him recognize me spiritually beyond the time he forgets me physically. The day is coming from what I understand, that Alzheimer’s patients eventually do not recognize family members and friends.
One night as we talked in bed, I suggested a “secret code” only he and I would know. Explained it was for coming out of anesthetic or if one were knocked unconscious, for example. I understand those were not good examples but they worked for my purposes of setting up the code.
So we agreed on a physical touching “code” and every night since, while telling him I love him, use the code. He would respond likewise.
Last night he tried coding as we said good night and he wasn’t able to.
Hopefully he will remember my touch.
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“The day is coming from what I understand, that Alzheimer’s patients eventually do not recognize family members and friends.”
That time does come, but slowly. Mom stopped calling me by my name about a year before she died, but she was always glad to see me on my weekly visits and comfortable with me.
But the memory was not gone, just disconnected. Two weeks before she died, I had said goodnight and was leaving her with the nurse, when she called out, “Good night, Susie!”
It was the last time she spoke to me. That night she fell and broke her pelvis. What with surgery and pain medication, she faded away quickly.
She did recognize Dad, however, right up until the end.
You always give me such encouragement! Thank you.
Again, Jean, your posts are just so moving. It is hard for me to express in words how it moves me. Weeta’s comment is so good.
What a poignant little post. Perhaps yesterday was just a blip on the radar. One very sweet lady on our unit spent her days looking for her husband, Bill. She paced day and night looking at faces to find him. He came every afternoon, and she always recognized him and would fall asleep on his shoulder, the only time she could sleep. He did take her home eventually. He was a devoted and loving caregiver like you are.
I remember how Nancy Reagan described the stages her husband went through–and she referred to it as the long goodbye.
Since my mother in law had Alzheimer’s, my husband fears he could “inherit” this disease, and it does unnerve him to think so.
I have assured him that I will be there for him, no matter what.
My dad lost the ability to say anything but garble rather early on. But he lit up like a Christmas tree when I entered his room up until the time he died.
Jean, my Dad still lights up like a Christmas tree when I walk into the room. He might not know my name or that I am his daughter, but he knows he loves me. It’s been this way for several years.
I love your posts.