Shelf life feelings

Nowhere

As I leave his facility it feels as if he is left and just sitting on a shelf. He is not orientated to time or place or recalling what just transpired. When addressed he speaks in proper British etiquette, a gift of early imprinted Victorian social grace bestowed upon him by his upper class English mother whom he dearly loved. His left leg bounces continually tethered to the tapping of his toes, being anxiously fueled by perceived vulnerability. It is not safe nor acceptable to him, for him to be lost in plain sight. The self-conscious part of his brain still functions and he suffers a self-imposed stigmatization of loss of mind, resulting in a do not ask for help and do not reveal you cannot remember emotional mentality. And now he is really stuck because he cannot construct complex thought.

When we are together, I am his working memory; His wife a few months shy of fifty years. We have (hopefully) been through the heinous stages of Alzheimer’s, and this advanced one is mostly sweet, with plenty of smiles and hugs, and so when I leave I wonder exactly how long is his shelf life? And in thinking like this it is incredibly, impossibly, difficult to leave. 

M1

I could have written this Nowhere. Thank you for putting it into words.

Cecil Jones

While reading this it made me recall the many short stories my wife use to write. Not only was it written to where this Ol' country bumpkin could read it but it put me in the scene. Thanks,

Ed1937

Nowhere, I remember all the problems you had when your husband was home. And what you had to go through when you wanted to visit him. So this stage must be easier in many ways. But that brings with it a different type of stress like wondering about his shelf life. I'm sorry.

Nowhere

Thank you M1 and Cecil. Ed, too, for remembering and encouraging me to make the move. Yes, this stage is a quiet reprieve. I know his small home (a hospital sized room) is his away from home home. He tells me he doesn’t have a room when he’s in the dining room, and I should just refer to it as home because he locates it when he leaves the dining room with some sort of internal sonar muscle memory. Our daughter lives five minutes away and I’m only eight mins driving time. It was a good move. We relax in his room, and go to the senior center, the dentist, and church, places where there are short programs and agendas to attend to. We visit our daughter’s house and he is visibly a bit anxious in the space of informality and expectations of visiting. I haven’t brought him to my home, and I don’t think I ever will. It isn’t OUR home anymore, and I’d like not to ever remember him feeling anxious there/here. It’s my place of refuge and needs to remain separate from the disease.

midge333

Thank you for sharing!

Beachfan

Nowhere,

My heart hurts when I read your eloquent post; I can’t forget the precarious road you followed prior to, and during early placement. I can empathize with the peace you must feel just being able to be with DH without the tumultuous activity of the not too distant past. My DH resided in a MCF for 17 months prior to his passing in April. Sadly, in all that time, there was no reciprocal conversation between us, rarely some brief flash of recognition. I, too, wondered how long DH would remain content in his “home” away from home. His sudden decline and death within a span of 4 days was a jolt and although he’d been “gone” several years prior to his passing, the finality of all of it will haunt me for a long time. Enjoy your DH and this stage; you’ve surely earned this quiet time.

Nowhere

https://alzconnected.org/discussion/comment/197171#Comment_197171

Thank you. I remember your story, too, Beachfan, and hope you’re well. It’s been said the second year following loss can be even more difficult than the first as life matches on. And yes, I’m so grateful for where we are presently. Take good care. Thank you for your message.

ButterflyWings

(((Nowhere))) What a fitting analogy for the treading water period which is feels like, sometimes more than others, creating that head space of wondering "how long..."

Sending you hugs. I too remember what you went through and the tenacity, strength, and creativity you drew on to visit your dear husband in MC. I am glad for the months, weeks, or days we get to experience a sweet stage even though it is bittersweet and also sad.