They don’t call Alzheimer’s “The Long Goodbye” for nothing.
Yesterday, after visiting Bill, I returned to my empty house. Shortly after, the phone rang. It was the Activity Director from the Veteran’s Home asking for details about Bill’s life to include in a biography they were compiling for each resident. As I shared his accomplishments, she marveled at all he had done. Of course, she couldn’t have known. How could she? The man she sees now is a shadow of who he once was.
Bill no longer knows where he is, why he’s there, or the people around him. He can’t walk, use a TV remote, or make a simple decision. One day, he’s lost in psychosis; the next day, he’s gripped by depression; followed by days of restless anxiety. An unending cycle of “hell on earth.”
After the call, I began looking through photos of Bill, tracing our life together from the early years of our marriage until now. That’s when my next “funeral” began.
Lined up in chronological order, the pictures painted a vivid picture of his slow, painful decline. A once-strong, healthy, highly educated, multi-talented man, now lost to the cruel grip of dementia. '
To the rest of the world, Bill is alive. His body breathes, his name is on our bills, and his income arrives each month. But the Bill I married died years ago.
Grief crashes over me in sobs as I mourn him, all over again. But this funeral is different. There are no friends gathered in remembrance, no kind words spoken about what a remarkable man he was, no shared meals, no arms wrapped around me in comfort. It’s just me, alone, grieving the loss of the man I love.
I cry until I have no more to give. Then, I put the photos away, wash my tear-streaked face, and change my top, damp from sobbing. It’s time to live my life; the life of a “widow in waiting.” I have survived another “funeral” alone, but it won’t be the last one.
Because with Alzheimer’s, the goodbye never comes all at once. It comes in waves, stretching endlessly across time, until there is nothing left to lose.
That is the reality of “The Long Goodbye.”
NOTE: If you know someone going through The Long Goodbye, give them an extra hug this week. They probably need it.
Oh Cindy!!! As I’ve said before, you are such an amazing writer! You made me really understand what you are going through. Hugs, hugs, hugs! Love, Carol
ReplyDeleteCindy, this is so raw and real, a poignant picture of a death by a thousand losses. But your inner strength as you greet each new day and choose to live with passion is inspiring to all who know you! Big hugs from your friend, Lori 🙏🏻🤗💜
ReplyDeleteMy mom says she mourned and lost my dad three times— at diagnosis, when she put him in a care home, and finally when he died. She says that “second mourning” was worse than his actual passing—Catherine
ReplyDeleteYes, putting him in a home is definitely one of the hardest things I've ever done. I so agree with your mom.
DeleteThank you for sharing your experiences with us.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing, Cindy. It's impossible to understand what you are going through, but so important to try.
ReplyDeleteHello from Tulsa…, I have thought of you and Bill many times and have wondered where you landed. I’m glad you are near Shelly, but so
ReplyDeletesad to hear of Bill’s diagnosis. Jon’s dad went to heaven this last December and his mom is not far behind. It is wonderful that you have an outlet for all that you are going thru. Please know you and
Bill will remain in our prayers.