What You Took From Me

Bill_2001 · January 14

Dear Friends,

I wrote this on July 9, 2025:

There is a beautiful woman here making dinner for us. She asked me how my day went today. The kitchen smells so good with dinner on the stove. She put her arm around me and gave me a kiss. It is so nice to have a wonderful wife who really loves me and is here to support me through life. She wants us to have a romantic evening after dinner. Note to God: I have noticed what you took from me.

I never took her for granted; she was one in a million. I now have trouble remembering how she used to be. Dementia has taken her abilities, personality, emotions, motivation, and her very essence so incredibly slowly and painfully. She sits comfortably on our sofa, after I have spoon-fed her dinner, completely oblivious to my presence, our home, and our memories together. She is happy, healthy (relatively speaking), and safe, which enables me to sleep at night. I am doing everything I can do, one day at a time, knowing that I will never again see the woman I married.

She would do the same for me.

Stay strong my friends. This journey is the most difficult thing we will ever do. Cut yourself some slack and hold your head high. You are a caregiver and a hero.

Love Bill_2001

Chris20cm · January 14

Thank you. That really hit home.

RetiredTeacher · January 14

Bill, I feel your pain. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I was reading your post, truly understanding your every word. Praying for strength for all of us here.

Biggles · January 14

i stand tall Bill and cry a million years. Thank you for expressing these feelings so well. It gives me courage and strength to go, it tells me what my life once was and how much I love my DH.

persevere · January 14

Bill, as always you have written a beautiful piece that we can all appreciate. I’m curious, I don’t recall ever seeing you mention meds of any kind. Perhaps I’ve just missed it. No details needed but do you have anything to share in this regard? Understand if you’d prefer not to go into it. It’s just that you’ve been able to capture so much of this perfectly I was hoping for some wisdom here.

tonyac2 · January 14

Reading this causes me to think of some of the things I grieve.
I grieve being the only one who remembers our life. The inside jokes. The shared decisions. The quiet understandings that never needed words. I am the last witness to who we were and the keeper of our story now.

Goodlife2025 · January 14

Again, your gift with words is a blessing to each of us. P.S. God sees that you have noticed.

SDianeL · January 14

Bill, you have the gift to put into words what we feel. Thank you. Hugs. 💜

Biggles · January 14

https://alzconnected.org/discussion/comment/263520#Comment_263520

Absolutely relate to this tonyac2

Biggles · January 14

It should be to go o…

jgreen · January 14

Thank you, Bill. Eloquent and so true!

White Crane · January 14

Bill, as always, thank you. Your words really hit with me. I told one of my sons recently that I’m having trouble remembering how his dad was before Alzheimer’s. I love my husband so much but we have been on this road for so long that it’s hard to remember what life was like before.

jfkoc · January 14

sad sigh…..

Vitruvius · January 14

As I sit and spoon feed my DW I also try to think back about what we/I have lost. I often look at a particular old photo of her taken almost 50 years ago when our life together was new and so full of promise.

Now she is not even a shell of her former self. My DW is truly a mere skeleton, weighing half of her former fit athletic self. She is wrought with contractions, hands purple do to poor circulation. She hasn’t so much as opened her eyes in months, nor made any signs that she is aware of the outside world other than a primitive feed response that keeps her barely alive.

It is now nearly impossible for me to see her as my wonderful wife, partner and friend. The unfairness haunts me daily. I want her misery to end but I am also aware that it means the end of our partnership, our life…together.

JC5 · January 14

Thank you for your eloquent words, your wisdom, your insight , your inspiration! You have been a ray of hope, a voice of truth and encouragement for us all. Thank you!

bwanasil · January 16

https://alzconnected.org/discussion/75092/what-you-took-from-me

OMG … so beautifully put ! So sad for all of us. Nobody can relate to what we feel, see or have to endure seeing our loved ones not themselves as we remember them.

howhale · January 16

https://alzconnected.org/discussion/75092/what-you-took-from-me

Well done Bill. I lost my dear wife of 57 years last August after a long battle with this disease. I too find it hard to recall how she was before, as the images of her wasting away day by day haunt my every memory. As we were traveling the incredibly difficult path of this disease, I also felt it was the hardest thing that would ever be asked of me. Being her primary caregiver and keeping her with me at home throughout was very hard but fulfilled my promise. Having now lost her and alone in our home which she so loved, I realize that caring for her was not hard, it was a joy that I now wish I could do once again. Relish every moment, regardless if she can recall your name or not, she is still there and while her brain fails her, her heart does not. I found that in moments when we would look at each other, eyes to eyes, I could see that she knew I belonged and belonged to her. In those exceptional moments, of which there were only a few even at the end, she would hold my hand, look into my eyes and tell me in a clear voice "thank you for taking care of me". That is when you know she is in there, you are hers and she knows. Caregivers are truly heroes doing very difficult work through no choice of their own, but doing it for one fading away day by day. But, never forget that there remains inside your loved one a heart that knows you, loves you and cares for you. Stay strong, cherish every moment no matter how hard, Stage 8 is hell on earth.