When we first began living with Alzheimer’s, I looked ahead to a future of loss upon loss: relentless destruction of memories and abilities for Dale; mounting grief and exhaustion for me.
The disease has certainly lived up to its reputation. It has created gaping caverns where thoughts once effortlessly flowed. It has made everyday tasks—dressing, bathing, toileting—baffling puzzles that cannot be completed without help. Grief for these losses is a constant undercurrent and restful sleep is a welcomed gift.
And yet, amid the terrible destruction, amid the unraveling of relationship and shared story, there has been a forming.
A new thing.
Like new skin—imperceptibly created as the old sheds—a new way of being “us” has formed.
This new thing has not appeared merely in spite of, but rather because of what has been lost. Like a seedling springing up from decaying wood, it is nourished by loss.
In the past, our thoughts, ideas, and memories ruled our interactions. They fueled our conversations, created our history, propelled our plans and activities.
But the disease has removed that capacity in us. Cognition is no longer the dominant force in who we are together. Its decline makes space for new ways of being, for the flow of life in the present.
In the present, we simply ARE. We are learning to BE and to love in new ways.
There is a special tenderness as I become the hands for Dale, tending to all that he once did for himself. Laughter and delight erupt spontaneously with things that have become surprises: seeing a neighbor, tasting an ice cream cone, hearing Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene.” Gratitude and awe expand each time we walk outside and the blue sky is completely amazing once again.
I have not stopped missing all that we were together. And there are times when confusion intensifies and builds a barrier between us. But I am learning to give thanks for what is…for the new ways we love.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert.