It’s amazing how quickly life can change in a moment. Or how slowly life changes when you look back and add up all the moments that brought you to where you are now.A year ago today, which is 12 months or 52 weeks or 365 days or 8700+ hours or 500,000+ minutes, my world changed in one of those moments. A lot of worlds did, in fact.That day started at the gym, which, by this point in Mitzi’s journey was really just an opportunity for her to get hugs from friends she’d made after so many years of working out there. I literally had to almost pick her up to put her on the stationary bike, which was all she could do by then. She was teary that day already, and hearing her longtime friend’s voice as he came within range of her diminishing field of vision made the dam break. After hugs from the gym friends, we headed over to meet her husband and sister for a Neurology appointment.I never mentioned to Mitzi that we were going there next until we got to the parking lot of the doctor’s office. I had quit telling her when we were going to the doctor by that point. Mitzi dreaded those appointments and often had a lot of anxiety about them because she wanted so badly to hear a conclusion of something miraculous, when she knew the reality of her disease better. The furrowed, apologetic look that her doctor’s lousy poker face generally conveyed, the way his tone let on way more than his words could say…all of this always made me believe he dreaded those appointments almost as much as Mitzi did. Who could blame him? Doctors are supposed to be in the business of helping their patients get well, or offering some kind of treatment…with Alzheimer’s, it just is what it is, as Mitzi would say.After listening to us describe her most recent decline as the disease progressed (incidentally, that notion seemed like such an oxymoron to me…decline during progression?), and after reviewing her chart and noting the 20 pound weight loss she had recently had, her Neurologist finally found the courage to make the boldest statement I’d heard from him. He told Mitzi that she had “graduated from his care.” He quickly asked if we had considered talking to Hospice and then moved past the question, perhaps hoping we hadn’t all felt the giant thud that shook the room as the weight of that particular H-word came crashing down on all of us. In fact, he scurried past the question so fast after he asked it that I remember sitting next to Mitzi’s sister trying to read her face to make sure she had heard the same word I had.When he walked us out, (not stopping in the little room to give the notes to the woman who generally makes our next appointment), he turned around and faced Mitzi. I think he said he was so sorry. And then he asked if he could hug her. It shocked me. He never seemed like a hugger. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as fast as a Wild West gunslinger would during a shootout and snapped a picture of that moment because I knew that hug meant so very much in the lives of each one of us. For the Neurologist, it was the final page in the chart of a patient he couldn’t fix.Among a million other things, for Gary it was the beginning of the end of a heartbreaking journey that had previously had an indeterminate expiration date.Among a million other things for Angela, as she hugged her older sister while saying goodbye in the parking lot, she was holding tight onto the last remaining member of her immediate family, and the closest person who had literally known her her whole life.Among a million other things for me, that doctor’s farewell hug meant not only that my sidekick wouldn’t be riding shotgun much longer, but that my assignment with her would be coming to a close and I’d need to figure out soon what my work life was going to look like. This was never a job to me, ever, but it had become my only income source.It was somewhat awkward in the parking lot after all that unspoken emotion. Gary went home to go for a run so he could process the gravity of the appointment. Angela had to get back to work. I got Mitzi in the car and started to take her to a local place where we normally split a salad. Halfway there, I turned around. We went to one of her all-time favorite restaurants. The hostess has been there forever and knew Mitzi’s family so she always hugs her. I knew we needed as many hugs as we could get. We sat down to order and I told the waitress that we were having dessert first. It seemed like such an un-adult, irresponsible thing to do, but when that H-word still permeated the air like a dense fog, who really cares if you have a giant brownie à la mode for lunch? Seriously.We finished our unhealthy lunch and walked over to sit on a bench she liked overlooking the ocean. I knew she knew something heavy had happened, but I wasn’t quite sure what she retained from the events earlier. We had a deep conversation about it with plenty of tears from both of us. Without a doubt, she knew exactly what had transpired. That’s how I knew she was at peace with it. She told me it was time. More tears. And then, as per my usual attempt at turning her frown upside down, I said something that made her laugh…and it was one of those deep, from-the-depths-of-your-soul sort of laughs. It lit up her whole face. I reached for my phone and caught a couple pictures that I cherish.Later, we met back up with Gary for a med management appointment with Mitzi’s psychiatrist, who had been keeping tight tabs on trying to balance Mitzi’s increasing anxiety and depression. He took her home from there, and I left to go try and process the day. And, frankly, my life and why she had been put in it only to be taken out of it. Today, at the one year mark since the moment the H-word changed so many worlds, including mine, I sat down in the living room chair of our new home we’ve just moved into. With my computer in front of me, I did an interview for a job in this field of compassionate care that, thanks to my sweet friend’s inspiration, is what I know my calling is.Just for good measure (and maybe a little luck), I had Mitzi’s favorite jacket thrown over the chair behind me as I did the interview…because I know she’ll always have my back…????
