Caffeinated Politics

Watching a woolly caterpillar cross the sidewalk this week made me very aware of the transitions all around us. Depending on which grandparents we remember listening to in our youth, the width of the black stripe either predicts a snowy winter or a more moderate cold season. Either way, we are in the last half of summer, and with school supplies piled high in stores and kids beginning to dread the return to classrooms, I feel the constant tug of time pulling us ever forward.

While I never “wish time away” by hoping it was “next Friday” or that special event down the calendar, I find myself this summer trying to slow things down even more than usual. An older friend who suffers from Alzheimer’s has made me acutely aware of the tick…tick…tick of the clock and the importance of living life now, in the present.

For the past couple of years, I could still think of the more serious side effects of his disease as something in the future. But when our friend—who has a Ph.D. in urban planning and architecture and authored a book on educational planning—could no longer write a check or tell time on an ordinary watch, I realized that the progress of the disease had overtaken my reluctance to accept its consequences. While James serves as his power of attorney and makes solid, pragmatic decisions on his behalf, my emotional side has not kept pace. I am still shocked at the idea that such a bright and inquisitive mind will be reduced to darkness.

Our friend bravely fought and conquered cancer years ago, and with the help of modern medical technology, came through that harrowing experience, only to find himself now caught in the midst of this most hellish disease. The erosion of the mind—while knowing, as time goes by, that it is happening—is so cruel it defies description. Nancy Reagan was far too kind when she called it “the long goodbye.” Being the lady she was, I’m sure other words were thought but not uttered for publication.

I am one to laugh and joke, so it was natural for me to comment, as I stood with my older friend outside a mutual acquaintance’s door after no one answered our knock, that she might be out on the town with her dark-haired Italian boyfriend. The blank look that crossed his face hit me hard. It was a look of emptiness—no recognition that a lame joke had been told, no ability to put the pieces together. It took several seconds before a flicker of recognition appeared, and I knew I had crossed a line I would need to be more mindful of in the future. He is a man, but his mind is fragile.

As we search for a home where our friend will need to move in the next year, I am more aware than ever of the hardships people with Alzheimer’s face. Our friend will have the resources to pay for his care and will never be forced to see the inside of a nursing home. But many are not so fortunate. Some argue that the patient will not be aware of their surroundings, so the comfort is only for the family and friends who visit. I disagree. I think it does matter. “There but for the grace of God go I” is the only way to proceed. And with that in mind, the best decisions will be made to offer him an honorable and caring facility when the time comes.

Every now and then, as I mow, weed, or walk, I wonder what prompted James and me to participate in this emotional roller coaster. Much like seeing a child in the street with a car veering toward them and instinctively pulling them back, this too has been a reaction—only on a much slower scale. Doing nothing for our friend was never an option. We have the time, know‑how, and background to assist, and yet the process of acting feels so separate from the ability to reason through the “why” of this disease.

The spirit of our friend, for the most part, is remarkable. Today he and I talked on the phone, and he told me he wanted to continue learning. His passion for knowing new things has not abated, even though he struggles to process what he reads and to recall it. He had found some tapes through The Learning Company on a topic he wanted to explore. After a few minutes of conversation, he told me he was having a really good day and was really happy.

“I want all my days to be like this,” he added.

Because of that call, James and I did something we don’t do very often—though I’m not sure why. We drove to Michael’s Frozen Custard and had malts. After all, the tick…tick…tick is something we all need to be mindful of, as the transitions of life do not slow for any of us.