Joined at the Heart

It's a funny thing. Throughout most of our 48+ years of married life, my husband and I held each other more or less loosely. That is to say, he had his favorite things to do that I didn't necessarily enjoy but tolerated, I had my favorite things to do that he wasn't even remotely interested in doing with me, and then there were the things we liked to do together. It worked really well. We weren't "joined at the hip," and we liked it that way. And suddenly he got this illness. Well, it seemed sudden, anyway, though I'm sure it actually wasn't.

As time went on, I couldn't be out of his sight for five minutes without causing him distress. He followed me around everywhere, even to the bathroom. It was like a noose tightening around me sometimes, and it was hard to breathe. It was difficult to accept that this strong, decisive, pioneering man now depended on me for absolutely everything. It was a heavy responsibility, and it still is.

Gradually, we became inseparable as I cared for all his needs of daily living, maneuvered social situations alongside him, ensured that his quality of life was as close to what he was used to as possible, took him for drives to calm him, everything. Everywhere I went, he went. Everywhere he went, I went. We held hands like a sweet, little, old couple. My feelings for him became more and more tender as time passed and compassion overcame fear. We were joined at the heart, but Alzheimer's was viciously separating us.

Many times, I have been teary-eyed at the unfairness of it all, the frustration of it all, the pressure of it all, the stress and tension of it all. The fear. The fear of it all. The pain of realizing he is slowly, inexorably leaving me is excruciating. Some days, I really don't know how I'm going to go on.

Alzheimer's is a cruel, relentless disease.