The Voice of a Caregiver

I read a story recently about an elderly man who paced the floor of a doctor's office early one morning waiting for an appointment. A nurse finally observed his anxiousness and asked him if something was wrong. He told her that if he didn't get to see the doctor soon, he would be late to have breakfast with his wife. The nurse assured him it would only be a few minutes more, yet the worried man shook his head and told her he would have to go, that he ate breakfast with his wife every morning at the nursing home. " My wife has Alzheimer's," he told the nurse. The nurse, rather taken aback, then asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?" He looked at the nurse, smiling and patting her on the back. "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."

Three months ago I lost a dear friend to Alzheimer's. She was 102 years old and I had been visiting her in the nursing home for over 22 years. When I happened on the aforementioned story, it made me think of her, because in those many years, she never knew who I was. She didn't speak my name. She never asked about my family. In the later years, she never spoke. However, my time with her grew more precious each visit, for I knew who SHE was. She was vibrant and full of life in her heyday. She loved people and pets and most of all, music that made her kick up her heels. Her eyes danced when we would sing old songs together, and holding her hand cemented a mutual connection of our unique bond. Our journey each day brought me closer to knowing who she was than caring that she ever knew me. It was a grace for me to know and love the person that was her.
Alzheimer's robs the brain of the ability to recognize others, but the elderly man in the story recognized and honored the person in his wife. I endeavored each day to honor my special friend at the nursing home, even more so now after her death.

What a gift it would be to all those suffering from Alzheimer's that their caregivers find a way, through the struggles and heartache of this arduous journey, to stop just for a few minutes a day and recognize the person behind the disease, to say to themselves, "She doesn't recognize me, but I still know who she is." After all, isn't that the wish of every human being. . .to be acknowledged for who we are?

Alzheimer's disease doesn't change that. It just changes the way others look at it.

Dana Territo, Director of Services