In a sense, Alzheimer's was a blessing.

I had long assumed that with Alzheimer’s, things always went from bad to worse. But I was wrong. I learned that especially in the last three or four years of caring for Jeanne. Things got better. With Jeanne. With me. We learned to cope. We handled and dealt with each day better and better and better. Both of us. Jeanne actually improved. In so many ways. In meaningful ways. Mentally. She became more relaxed. More at ease. And she felt the emotion of love. She called me Jim. And honey. And she kissed me. And she was, oh, so sweet. Yes, loving. Could be she was responding to the good vibes. To my devotion. To my daily declarations of love. And to my presence. Daily. To my involvement in Jeanne’s every day life. The wheelchair rides. My hand-feeding her lunch and supper. Bringing her home for a few hours several times a week. Taking her out for drives. And shopping. Oh, so much activity. And talking to Jeanne. One-on-one. And playing music. Familiar music. Soothing music. I could no longer remember the last time I was angry or upset while I was around Jeanne. It was so long ago. I marveled. At the string of perfect days. Maybe perfect because we took time for each other. We focused on each other. Before retirement, and before Alzheimer’s, we didn’t devote this much time with each other. I was working. Pursuing a career. As a writer. Oh, we spent time with each other. Daily. But there were so many other diversions. So many other commitments. Other responsibilities. Now our focus was on each other. More or less full-time. The way it should be with lovers. With husbands and wives. With best friends. Incredible as it may seem, Alzheimer’s brought Jeanne and I closer together. Closer than ever. We learned to savor the moment. The day. Each other. Like never before. In a sense, Alzheimer’s was a blessing. Because we made it so. —Jim Broede