Our boys, who are 13 and 9, understand the brutality of Alzheimer’s Disease. At least as much as their brains can comprehend it. And only as much as I’ve let them see and experience firsthand. They grew up for 4 years of their young lives watching their great-grandmother slip slowly under its spell when she lived with us. It was second nature to them to answer the same questions over and over or to sit and listen to elevator music since it kept her calm and content. When she needed more care, and my aunt and mother had the ability to arrange their schedules to do so, she moved out of town for them to care for her. So my boys’ memories of their Nina were spared the ugliest parts of Alzheimer’s. I’m grateful for that. But they both sat there with her the day she left this earth, with Conner, at 9 years old, holding her hand as she took her last breath.
Conner had wanted to speak at his great-grandmother’s funeral and was angry at Alzheimer’s for taking his best friend. He was constantly reading articles and sharing them with me, or having discussions about various studies and experimental treatments. When he had the opportunity to tour a cancer research lab at Mayo Clinic a couple years ago, his takeaway was what kinds of things are they doing to find a cure for Alzheimer’s? When I was given the chance to be Mitzi’s sidekick, it was almost exactly a year after my grandmother had passed away. So Conner’s greatest concern was losing another friend to this disease that offered no hope of healing outside of Heaven.
Still, both boys embraced Mitzi. They loved spending time with her. She was part fun aunt, part friend, and there was even an element of being like a young grandparent figure for them. Mitzi told me on more than one tough-to-hear occasion that she was grateful to spend time with them because she had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t likely be around to see grandchildren of her own. I was so happy they were part of our whole unique equation.
Yes, they had to learn not to argue (as brothers will do) around her because she would get upset if she ever sensed any “unrest.” They had to learn to be patient when they ate with her because she took over an hour to eat a meal. And they had to perfect the skill they learned early on in life that if someone asks you the same question 8 times in 15 minutes, it’s OK to just answer it without saying anything about the fact that they’ve already answered it. Every time.
They know the reality of the phase of the disease Mitzi is in now, and they still come with me to spend time with her. They talk to her even though they can’t understand what she says in response. They know that hugs speak louder than words these days. And they are more fired up than ever to hope and pray for an end to this disease in their lifetime. Conner knows we aren’t fans of wearing t-shirts to church on Sunday. But when your 13-year-old son is willing to wear a vibrant purple shirt about ending Alzheimer’s to go hang out with his friends in Youth, how can you say anything but yes? ????
