Fun With Alzheimers

November 18, 2019

I opened the door leading from my husband's residence to the courtyard, in case that was the direction he wanted to go as we wandered down the hallway slowly. But he didn't want to head outside, apparently. He stopped in his tracks, pulled me back towards him, and "air punched" me in the side with a grunt, pulling his "punch."

"Hey," I joked, gently poking him back.

"Fun!" he grinned.

Every time something like that happens, it takes my breath away. How is it that, somewhere in his mind, he can still have a sense of humor sometimes? Can still pull up a word or two on occasion? One of the caregivers told me that the day before, he'd been following her around and "sneaked up" behind her as she was taking care of another resident. She knew he was back there, of course, but she pretended to jump when she turned around and "saw" him.

"Are you trying to scare me?" she joked.

"Arrrrr...you gonna die!" he teased mischievously and grinned, and they both had a chuckle.

How is it that he can still occasionally be a big tease, a rascal? How is it that his personality still shines through engagingly, even though his ability to chat is gone? How is it that he can be affectionate one moment, and lost in space the next? This disease is so infuriating! If only he could talk to me, explain it to me, tell me what he's thinking and feeling.

It's such a heartbreaking thing to think of this intelligent man imprisoned somewhere in his mind, a captive of misfiring synapses and degenerating brain cells. What if he's locked up, trying to get out, and can't? What if he's trying to communicate, but the words won't come? These are the kinds of thoughts that aren't helpful, I know, but they insist on insinuating themselves into my consciousness, unbidden and unwelcome and horrible. They are the stuff nightmares are made of.