As a Result Of Alzheimer’s, Not In Spite Of It

[Blog Author's Note:  Below, Marci answers some questions that I asked at the end of my eulogy for my father.  Alzheimer's Disease, it turns out, is not all curse and no blessing.]

It is a common understanding that Alzheimer’s changes the personality of those afflicted with the disease.  Another related perception is that the patient is no longer really there, since, after all, the mind is largely gone.  Are these statements true?  I would like to share some thoughts on these matters from our perspective because this dreaded disease is increasing in frequency, and preconceptions inevitably shape the attitude, approach, and care given to those who suffer with various forms of dementia, especially as they near the final stages.

Certainly Alzheimer’s affects the personality of the patient, but is that really all bad?  Before the last stages of the disease, Stan was largely quiet.  As his daughter-in-law, I had very few conversations with him throughout my previous nineteen years as a part of the Julin family.  He was more of a fixture beside the more effervescent Connie.  I knew what manner of man he was and respected him greatly for it but knew very little about him, and we certainly had no relationship to speak of.   That was all to change due to Alzheimer’s.

Seth asked some profound questions in his eulogy for his father.  “How, in his condition, did he remain a hero to me and become a hero to my wife and son?  Why do I almost feel guilty that we got to have him live with us while my brothers missed out on that privilege?  How did he manage to command greater respect even as his cognitive ability diminished?” 

The answers to such questions are worth contemplation because they fly in the face of the two commonly accepted statements with which I began this discourse.  It is reported that President Ronald Reagan, in the midst of Alzheimer’s, once told his son that the good thing about the disease was that every day he met new people.  I witnessed a similar pleasure enjoyed by Stan during his last months.  The disease brought about a softening or complete removal at times of his previous inhibitions.  Where once he was shy and reserved, the removal of inhibitions made him a talkative and social man.  Granted, the conditions had to be right, because the disease made him sensitive to crowds and noise, and he was continuously aware of his mental processing struggles.  However, someone willing to patiently listen and encourage Stan was sure to get him to talk and talk.  It was, therefore, during the last year of this great man’s life that my son and I were blessed to develop a much deeper relationship with him. 

For months before Stan and Connie moved in with us, I cared for Stan two days a week.  Our times together consisted of long lunches, walks, and simple projects about the house and yard.  During this time, I would pick the memory banks of my father-in-law, discuss the beauty of salvation and the hope of heaven, and discuss all manner of other topics with him.  I will never forget one lunch during which he asked about my testimony and my family.  One family member of mine came up, and I expressed my concern for that person’s spiritual welfare.  After I finished, he immediately said, “Let’s pray.”  He closed his tear streamed eyes and prayed at great length for my family member.  Over six months later, within only weeks of his death, I asked Stan if I could pray for him because he had been up all night without sleep and was in distress.  In response Stan, not knowing my name and not realizing that I had been offering to pray for him (rather than the other way around), immediately knelt by his bed with me and began praying, again through tears, for “this lady” (me) whose family member needs the Lord.  Clearly, even in the last stage of Alzheimer’s, Stan was still Stan.

His wit regularly continued to show itself till the end and even more than it ever did during his “good” years.  He has always loved words and had a tremendous vocabulary.  Once at dinner, Stan wanted a napkin and determined that he needed to get up to find one.  Getting him seated was always an ordeal; so seeing him about to rise brought a sudden response from Connie.  She grabbed a napkin in one hand and pulled forcefully down on her husband’s arm with the other.  Stan’s exasperated response as he landed unceremoniously back in his seat was, “I was thwarted!”

As I reflect on Stan’s journey through the degenerative path of Alzheimer’s, I marvel at how his character often determined the nature of his struggles.  I will give three examples: 

First, Stan labored faithfully, earning a living to support his family for 44 years.  2 Thessalonians 3:10 says, “If a man will not work, he shall not eat.”  His inability to work brought him tremendous anguish.  Once, he humbly asked Seth if Seth would please give him a job.  Another time, when he and I were going to spend the day together, Stan asked me what our plans were.  I told him that I had some yard work that I thought he could help me with after we ate lunch.  He was so excited at the prospect that he couldn’t eat and instead waited patiently for me to finish so that we could get to work.  The last full conversation I had with my father-in-law was the day he went to the hospital.  (He would be discharged from the hospital to hospice care.)  He had not eaten much for three days because of the stomach flu.  When he passed by me at the breakfast table, I asked him how he was and if I could get him a bowl of cereal.  His response was to say that he could not because he needed to find work to do first.  Yes, Stan was still Stan.

A second area of struggle that demonstrated his character in spite of Alzheimer’s was his firm determination to be faithful to Connie, his wife of 45 years.  Unfortunately, as he frequently did not recognize her as his wife, it sometimes upset him greatly when she tried to get into bed with him.  He also would frequently want to call Connie when he was left alone with me to ascertain if it was alright for him to be alone with me.

A third area of character that regularly manifested itself in Stan until the end was his gentlemanly manners.  When he and I went on walks, he insisted on walking on the section of the sidewalk closest to the road so as to put me the farthest from potential danger.  Even though he desperately needed help getting properly seated at a table, he wanted to pull Connie’s chair out for her before he sat down.  Indeed, Stan was still Stan.

It is true that Stan said and did things under the control of the dreaded disease that were completely out of character.  It is true that more often then not, he could not put two intelligible words together towards the end of his life.  He pushed us all to our limits constantly as we attempted to care for him in his altered state.  However, he died my hero and friend as a result of Alzheimer’s, not in spite of it.