...with the utmost respect.

An anonymous letterwriter to this blog wrote, "There is a level of respect we all owe each other."

And, hey, I couldn't agree more.

Over the years, I have shown my detractors far more respect than they've shown me. That makes me relatively respectful. Maybe not totally respectful. But hey, fairly respectful. I think it's appropriate to treat blatantly disrespectful people with a degree of disrespect. That's just my style.

Please note, I treat respectful people with the utmost respect. --Jim Broede

Yes, I'll try to suck it up...

My friend from the contentious Ladies Aid Society, Maebee, thinks there's much about life that sucks. That's her word. And not least of all, she is emphatic that Alzheimer's Disease sucks. Well, I gotta agree with Maebee. But I don't let sucking get me down. I don't dwell on it. I get on with life and even tell myself that Alzheimer's was an opportunity for Jeanne and I to learn to cope with a very difficult situation. And to test our love, I guess. Therefore, the Alzheimer's experience wasn't a totally lost cause.

"Personally, I did not need Alzheimer's Disease, to teach me that I love my mother-in-law," Maebee declared in a posting on the Alzheimer's message boards. "I loved her before, and I love her now--no more, no less. It does suck! How else can you describe a disease that initially robs the mind, but not always the body? That leaves the ones that we love so much, wondering why life cannot continue the way it always had? They don't see that anything has changed! That leaves them to wonder why everyone else has to make decisions for them, sometimes as simple as to when they should go to the bathroom. To leave them wondering why no one understands what they are trying to say, even though it seems perfectly clear to them. How else can you describe a disease that ravages the minds of millions of people, yet most still believe it to be an accepted sign of age? I respectfully disagree. I think it does SUCK, and if others feel that way too, well, I see it as no reflection on their caregiving abilities, just their ability to express reality, to come here and vent their frustrations, and then to go on to the business of caring for their loved ones. Being a good wife, mother and daughter-in-law is rewarding and fulfilling to me. Watching my beloved mother-in-law go through this devastating disease is not."

Anyway, folks, I'm of the opinion that maybe a few things in life do suck, so to speak. But overall, life is wonderful. Grand. And glorious. And that certainly offsets the "sucking," many times over. I'll take life as it comes, and still try to be reasonably happy. Yes, I'll try to suck it up, and be happy that I'm alive. --Jim Broede

I'd gladly do it again.

"I'm so sorry," Diana writes, "to hear that anyone has to go through this (Alzheimer's ordeal) with our loved ones. It SUCKS!!!!"

Well, Diana put it succintly on the Alzheimer's message board the other day. But what might suck even more is Diana's attitude. It's time that folks like Diana quit feeling sorry for themselves and get on with the business of being good and positive care-givers for their patients. I'd sure as heck would rather be the care-giver than the patient. And when I was caring for my Jeanne for 13 years, I decided in the end it really didn't suck. It was one of the more rewarding and fulfilling experiences of my life. I wish that I didn't have to go through the ordeal. But it taught me something. That I genuinely loved my Jeanne, and I'd gladly do it again. --Jim Broede

Especially if it does the patient & care-giver harm.

Kathy feels robbed. And I have some advice for her. But first let’s listen to what Kathy has to say in a post on the Alzheimer’s message boards.

”My husband,” Kathy wrote, “was diagnosed with dementia about 18 months ago. He did very well up until about a month ago. I just cannot get over how quickly he is now declining…He now often does not know who I am or our children. He gets angry so easy these days…He is just in a confused state most of the time. He has many delusions, cannot find the bathroom, bedroom. He makes up these great stories of hunting. He seems so sad. Tonight he told me 'Kathy' (that’s me) was much nicer to him than I am. Not sure who he thought I was…

”I work full time and must continue to do so if we want to live. Our family GP (doctor) is wanting me to place him in a home. He is concerned about my health and thinks it would be better for (him). I just know it would be very hard on him not to have me and of course his little dog by his side

“This disease is just so painful! And tomorrow is our 31st anniversary. If only I could take back some of the years when we were so darn busy trying to save for the future that has now been robbed from us.”

Well, Kathy is inclined to keep her husband at home rather than put him into a nursing home. And I guess she also plans to continue to work. So she won’t be there all the time to care for him.


So this is what I told Kathy. Listen to your doctor. Place your husband. He needs extensive care. The kind he will get in placement. And it'll give you a chance to rest and to still visit him. Quite possibly daily. Bring your pet dog. Most nursing homes allow pets to come in. It's good therapy. Understand that you have to take care of yourself, and your husband, too. Make the best of the time you have left together. My Jeanne spent 38 months in a nursing home. And I was with her every day. We made the best of it. You can, too. It's not the end of the world. Not quite yet. Yes, life has its sad moments. But still, you can salvage something out of this. Just try to do the best you can under the circumstances. Life goes on.

Yes, folks, the sad thing is that some care-givers just don’t know when to stop being overwhelmed. To their own detriment. And quite often, to the detriment of their patient. Placement in assisted living or a nursing home doesn’t have to be the worst alternative. Sometimes, it can be the best option.

Some of us have got into our noggin that keeping the patient at home is always the best and only reasonable option. Sometimes, it’s the worst and most unreasonable route to go. Especially if it does the patient and the care-giver harm. –Jim Broede

...falling in love.

Ice formed on most of the lake overnight. I can still see some open water in the middle of the lake. But I probably won't see a totally open lake again until next April. Maybe in two weeks I'll be able to venture out on the ice. I do kind of like the change of seasons. All of the trees are bare of leaves. If we don't get a layer of snow in the next few days, I may go out and rake some leaves. But generally, I do most of the raking in the springtime. The leaves are compacted then. And still damp from the melted snow. And that allows me to pick them up by hand. In big clumps. I have more trees than any of my neighbors. Some neighbors like to have smooth lawns rather than lots of trees. And they even get their lawns chemically treated so there are no dandelions and other "undesirables." I like dandelions and a low ground cover called creeping charlie. Which sometimes creeps over to the neighbors' yards. I have a wide variety of trees. Pines. Spruce. Cedar. Oak. Maple. Ash. Sunburst locust. Catalpa. Tamarck. Willow. Mugho. Aspen. I have so much shade in the summertime that the grass hardly grows. And I also have built rock gardens. Years ago, I had an old Ford LTD car that had seen its better days. And before I junked it, I used it to haul rocks from farmers' fields. For my rock gardens and to fortify the shoreline of the lake. I put rocks in the trunk. In the back seat. In the passenger seat. And I must have made 100 trips into farm fields for the rocks. Some huge rocks. I can hardly believe I was able to pick them up. But that helped me build some muscles, I guess. And a strong back, too. You can see that sometimes I get carried away. Collecting rocks. And not least of all, falling in love. With life. And who knows, who else? -Jim Broede

If you set your mind & heart to it.

Someone called Twilight Tears wants to know how to cope with stress.

"I know my dad cannot help having severe dementia--God knows I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy--but I am reaching the end of my rope, even tho my mom does most of the caregiving," Twilight Tears wrote on the Alzheimer's message boards. "I am so tired, so discouraged, so stressed out, so depressed. I already have some mental health issues which long predate my dad's illness. And I know the stress is only making my mental state worse. I am seeing a therapist, and am on meds, but I still only want to sleep. I dread waking up!! How do the rest of you cope with all the misery involved in this wretched, wretched disease???"


Well, I’ll tell you how to cope, dear Twilight Tears. You find something in your life that you enjoy waking up to. Something called love. You have to love something. Maybe it’s just being an alive and conscious human being. Able to think. Able to reason. Maybe it’s standing in the shower and the sensual feeling of warm water run down your body. Maybe it’s going for a walk and breathing in fresh air. Maybe it’s reading a poem that stirs your soul. Maybe it’s petting a dog or a cat. Maybe it’s caring for your sick father. Maybe it’s consoling your exhausted and depressed mother. Yes, Twilight Tears, it’s finding at least an ounce of joy in your life. An ounce of fulfillment. I’ve done it. And so have many others. You can, too, if you set your mind and heart to it. --Jim Broede

Love could even make the miserable happy again.

To the unhappy people in the outside world, I must sound like a demon. Parading my happiness. I sense that it makes the miserable even more miserable. I have found love. And I proclaim it from the mountain top. There is nothing more thrilling and more vibrant than love. The love of another. Love could even make the miserable happy again. --Jim Broede

Isn't it ironic?

I like Tracy Mobley. She has early onset Alzheimer’s. She’s only 42. And was diagnosed 4 years ago. But she isn’t giving up. She’s talking about the disease, and how it affects her and the care-giving family. Ain’t always a pretty picture.

“My husband gets irritated when I ask the same question over just as many of you here do in going through with your LO's (loved ones),” Tracy wrote recently on the Alzheimer’s message boards. “The other day I had asked him something apparently repeatedly for about 3 days and his frustrations started to show. He said how many more dozens of times are we gong to go through this? My response was, ‘probably several more dozens.’ It isn't like we do these things on purpose. They just happen. What I don't understand is many of us have been dealing with this for several years and we should be used to it by now. It is just like raising a toddler and they repeat the same things. You don't get angry and frustrated with them. So why treat us any different?”

Tracy said her husband apologized. Which is exactly what he should have done.

“But we go through this all of the time,” she said. “We have only been dealing with this for about five or six years. You would think we'd have a system worked out by now.”

Well, I tried to encourage Tracy. I gave her a compliment.

“You are still a very perceptive woman if you notice your husband's frustration,” I wrote to Tracy. “Which means you are still a good communicator. And you are still able to do things that make your life better. Yes, you are able to go with the flow.”

Go with the flow happened to be the title on Tracy’s thread.

Anyway, Tracy wrote back, “Jim, no I am not a good communicator. If you would have read what I wrote you would have caught that. I don't remember. So I repeat myself a lot and that causes frustration. My perception is usually way off base because I can't seem to understand the simple things he may be telling me or I think it is totally something that it is not.”


Again, I replied in an effort to praise Tracy some more. “You are a better communicator than you think, Tracy,” I said. “You are staying active. You keep posting on this message board. That's more evidence that you know how to communicate. Don't sell yourself short. You may have lost the ability to take a compliment. But overall, you are doing darn good.”

Well, that brought a hostile response from a funny member of the Alzheimer’s Ladies Aid Society, a woman who calls herself "bb girl." She said I was wrong in telling Tracy that maybe she had lost the ability to take a compliment. That maybe it was insensitive.

“How LOW can you go???” bb girl asked me. “You constantly prove yourself! Tracy came to 'simply' vent about a issue in her home life & living with dementia & you just HAD TO MAKE ANOTHER comment. Maybe you should read the paragraph once again under Guidelines called Derogatory messages!"

Now, that’s funny. Even a care-giver such as bb girl doesn’t know a compliment when she sees one. But that’s the style of some of these ladies in the Ladies Aid Society. They think negatively all too often. That’s one thing that makes them pretty poor care-givers, in some instances. They are too mad in order to do a good job of it. They have to start thinking more positively, I keep telling them. Shape up. Be more like Tracy. Isn’t it ironic that some patients such as Tracy are in better control than the care-giver? –Jim Broede

...it feels wonderful.

I am in love. And it feels wonderful. --Jim Broede

I think that's what the Lord would want me to do.

“One of the saddest and meanest things about this damn (Alzheimer’s) disease is that my saintly Daddy, a retired preacher, desperately wants to preach or teach Sunday School or anything like that,” a woman named Susan wrote recently on the Alzheimer’s message boards. “The reality is, he can't. He can't find the books of the Bible, he can't read any longer, he can't complete a sentence without forgetting words, etc. There's just no way he could do anything like preaching or teaching. Today, he took his car and drove to 3 area churches. He was tested by a medical program & is allowed to drive within certain limits which he honors. He wanted to go into the churches and ask them for a job preaching or teaching Sunday School. Fortunately, the churches were all closed. This is not a sudden thing that he'll forget tomorrow. He's been like this for the past 5 years or so, ever since he was diagnosed with AD. Any advice, other than just go home & have a good cry over how pitiful he is?”

Well, I decided to offer some advice.

I'd come to listen to him preach. And I'd tell him I could use a good sermon. And I'd shake his hand when I left and tell him, "Good sermon, preacher." Just to make him feel good. I think that's what the Lord would want me to do. –Jim Broede

But first, you've gotta believe.

The woman calls herself SkyBird. And in January 2006 she posted a letter to me on the Alzheimer's message boards. Here's what she had to say:

Jim, I used to believe that Alzheimer's patients just entered a "fantasy land" and if one just agreed with them on things then they would be blissfully happy, because they wouldn't know any better. Maybe that happens, I don't know. No one I have ever talked to other than you seem to think people with Alzhiemer's live in a wonderful fantasy land they can enjoy. My dad is often scared and confused. He knows he should be able to fix things, but they only tear up....He knows he should be able to know what is going on, or know people, and it is devastating to him when he can't. He believes he should be able to drive and be intependent and "people won't let him." I agree that talking to "dead people" is not harmful to them, and we don't need to argue with them on that. My dad has been talking some with my mother who died 34 years ago. I sometimes envy him that. But make no mistake, this is not a fun amusement park he has entered.


So I gave SkyBird an answer:

Oh, Sky, there is so very much positive fantasy that I see at Birchwood, the nursing home where Jeanne stays. Take Leona. I’ve appointed her director of happiness. And she takes the bit seriously. She goes around and tries to cheer up people. And she’s proud of it. And in the process, she cheers up herself. She feels useful. Ardeth comes down the hallway in her wheelchair, looking for her (long dead) brother Warren. And I talk to her about Warren. She loves Warren. And hey, I talk as if he’s very much alive. Because in Ardeth’s reality, he lives. I say, let her believe it. Because that makes Ardeth happy. And I praise so many, many of the residents to the sky. I talked about Frank here recently. He died last week. Well, I used to joke with Frank. Made up stories. About him having a moonshine business, a distillery in the mop closet down the hall. Yes, fantasy. Fantasy used by me, in this instance, to stimulate Frank’s mind. His imagination. Make him laugh. And Frank saw the humor and the conviviality in the pretend world. That it’s all right to create a happy world. A funny world. I do this with Jeanne. And oh, so many others at Birchwood. On a daily basis. It’s like magic. I can turn a seemingly sad situation into a happy one. I can make people think. That hey, the weather outside ain’t so bad. Sure, it’s cold. But hey, the sun is shining. Or look at those wonderful snowflakes. And the blanket of white snow. And the crisp, fresh air. Even in a thunderstorm Jeanne and I venture out. In our ponchos. We make the best of a bad situation. With the power of our minds. Even the dementia-afflicted mind. We find ways to make bad seem good. Yes, Sky, I enjoy my days at Birchwood. Maybe because I see a reality that inspires me. That makes me feel good. Makes me feel useful. Makes me feel alive. That’s what I try to do for Jeanne, and others. Make them feel alive. And happy. Even if that requires entering a fantasy world. Their fantasy. Or sometimes my fantasy. To me, Birchwood is a paradise. And I try to get others to see it that way, too. Tell me, who’s reality is real? Believe me, mine is real. I feel it. I savor it. Life is wonderful. Sky, you‘re invited into my reality. Into my world. But first, you've gotta believe. --Jim Broede

You know something, Lynne? It works.

A letter was posted to me on the Alzheimer’s message boards in June 2005. By a woman named Lynne. Here’s what she had to say:

Dear Jim,

I have been reading your posts for some time. However, I find you put emphasis on your "writing" and happy outlook more than solutions and reality. It would be so nice to skip through the tulips with this disease and bury our heads in the sand but unfortunately it is what it is. Each of us handles this differently...you flower it with happy dust and some of us hit it head on like a freight train. Our way may hurt more but we get straight answers...like them or not. My question for you is this...How long has your Jeanne had ALZ?...What if any meds is she on?...Does she know you?...What are her symptoms now? I think many of us have been wondering this for a while now but you tend to only share your tender moments with us rather than more ALZ info that we all need to pass around. If I come on strong...well...guess trying to handle both parents with this (and it) has made me look for real answers and become stronger than I've ever been. Give us some facts...I'm happy to share mine with any of you folks too. Whoa, that was to the point, huh? Thanks Jim.

Well, here’s the reply that I posted:

Lynne:

The fact of the matter is that a happy outlook is a solution and reality. At least for me. And for Jeanne. That’s what I have been saying. But obviously, you don’t buy it. I’m not skipping through tulips or burying my head in the sand. I’ve found an approach that works. That’s a straight answer. Attitude. Eighteen months ago, Jeanne was calling me s--t face and f---head. Names like that. Cussing a blue streak. Totally out of character. She was belligerent. Agitated. She would have a bowel movement, and take the feces in her hands and spread it all over. Or put it in a box on the dryer in the laundry room. Or on a book shelf in a bookstore. She was paranoid. I’ve posted this information here on several occasions, including earlier this year. Well, things have changed. Dramatically. For the better. Jeanne is now her sweet self again. Polite. Courteous. She calls me Jim and honey. She smiles. She sees a sunset and comments, “Oh, what a beautiful sunset.” She greets people. Says hello. When somebody asks how she feels, she has on occasion responded, “Good. Good. Good.” With gusto. I talk to her. One-on-one. Face-to-face. And she understands. She seems to feel safe and secure. And, oh, so loving. What made the difference? Well, the medications haven’t changed. Depakote and aricept and Tylenol. But since Jeanne entered the nursing home environment, I’ve seen to it that she has been subjected to good vibes. And fresh air romps in the wheelchair. And lots of love and affection. Everything upbeat. Tender loving care. Trips back and forth, between the nursing home and our home, which is three miles away, on a lake. Pretty much a stress-free environment. I spend 8 to 10 hours a day with Jeanne. Doing things. Stimulating her mind. I remind her that I love her. Dearly. That I will never abandon her. Jeanne can’t walk. She can’t add 2 plus 2. She can’t feed herself. She’s incontinent. But she’s relearning lost skills. Relearning lots of little things. Social skills. Bit by bit. Regaining confidence. This is real stuff. Some at the nursing home think it’s a miracle. I think it’s a positive approach. Positive thought. It’s believing. It’s a demonstration of the power of love. Oh, yes, sounds corny, doesn’t it? But I’m a romantic. Yes, I’m hitting Alzheimer’s and care-giving head on. Not like a freight train. But gently. With what you call happy dust. I call it tenderness. You know something, Lynne? It works. –Jim Broede

Quite a compliment.

Some folks seem to have trouble with the way I express myself. For being too opinionated. For being arrogant. And condescending. Interesting, isn’t it? Really, I find that funny. All I’m doing is letting my mind flow. I’m thinking. I’m saying this is what I believe. How I look at life. This is my reality. I see nothing wrong with that. It’s good to do what I’m doing here, for instance, in ‘brooding’ in my own unique way. Gives me a sense of being free. And for those who don’t like what I have to say – well, that should be no skin off their butts. It should be relatively easy to ignore me. Every day in newspapers and on the radio and TV I stumble across all sorts of babblers. And I find it easy to let the crap go in one ear and out the other. Or I just change stations or turn it off or go to the next article. Looking for something meaningful. And sometimes I laugh at the stupidity. Yes, it’s funny. Rarely worth getting mad or angry. Anyway, I guess I have a knack for arousing some people with this wonderful blog. Just by being myself. Oh, some people like what I have to say. And others don’t. That’s the funny part. That so many people who detest me, and what I have to say, stick around. They come back often (we have over 12,000 hits) for more. They’re hooked. Addicted. And they even encourage their friends and associates to come over and see the attraction for themselves. Quite a compliment. –Jim Broede

...why the gals in the Ladies Aid Society get offended.

Oh, I really can’t get too terribly annoyed when I read the nasty comments from my critics. That’s their outlet. Their way of venting. And good for them. If that’s what they need, so be it. Some folks are happy being unhappy. It’s as if they need a burden. They can’t live without a load on their minds. It makes them feel good. To suffer a little bit. A little like their Jesus on the cross. Maybe I misconstrue them. The same as they misconstrue me. I try not to dislike them. And I really don’t. I find it easier to ignore them. To laugh. To be amused. I suppose that’s not ignoring. It’s more a way of accepting them. Maybe I find them fascinating. That they get carried away the way they do. Well, I get carried away, too. In my own way. And they are doing it in their own way. I’m a bit crazy. And so are they. Some of ‘em cling together – in what I affectionately call the Ladies Aid Society. They are a community, of sorts. They get moral support from each other. Just as I get moral support from a handful of others. People like Rosie and Cherie. And yes, I think I am following the advice of some of my friends and acquaintances. To cool it. To be myself. And to allow others to be themselves. Oh, I like to poke at them. To make them think. To make them feel uncomfortable at times. Because that’s a way to stimulate thought. Any way, I don’t mind being held in disdain. That’s my badge of honor. Maybe I intimidate. Jeanne often told me that. I don’t think I consciously tried to intimidate. But Jeanne would eavesdrop on my conversations. My phone interviews. With politicians, for instance. And she told me I sounded so intimidating. Well, maybe so. Maybe it was that I wanted to take charge of the interview. To force an honest answer. To get to the core of an issue. To get to the meat. I suspect that’s why the gals in the Ladies Aid Society get offended. –Jim Broede

...to find what's beyond the door.

One can have Alzheimer’s, and still be perceptive. Very much so. I discovered that at Birchwood, the nursing home, with Jeanne and so many of the other patients. They sensed good vibes and bad vibes. Jeanne, for instance, responded best to certain nurses aides. The ones that had a knack. A good vibes knack. The ones that obviously liked their jobs. Liked people. Despite everything. Despite the dementia. The good ones knew how to make Jeanne smile. And laugh. And Jeanne would come out with a “thank you.” And even call an aide “honey.” I saw patients who on the surface seemed far gone. Blank looks. Synova was that way. But when Synova’s husband showed up with their lap dog, I saw a glimmer return. It was heartening. Gratifying. So many little ways to bring bits of joy and recognition. To the likes of Synova. To everyone at Birchwood. Some still have a keen sense of humor. We joked. Tony knew the difference. Knew I was kidding him. He’s a retired farmer. In his 90s. And I called him a gentleman farmer. The kind of farmer that keeps his hands clean and now sits back in a recliner, and allows guys like me to go to the barn to milk the cows and shovel the manure. And when I left the premises with Jeanne, I told Tony we were going out to milk the cows, so everybody at Birchwood has fresh milk. And Tony brightened up. And kidded me. About maybe not knowing the difference between a goat and a cow. Tony’s wife told me he was always the life of the party. And he still is, in so many ways, because he still knows and feels joy and happiness. He hasn’t forgotten how to laugh. And he walks around in a sweatshirt that declares, “I’m not only perfect, I’m Norwegian, too.” And this upbeat interaction with Tony is contagious. Others sitting around join in the fun. It’s stimulating. Tony often wandered down the hall, at the very end, to Jeanne’s room. And there’s a storage closet. Locked. And Tony thought the outdoors was just beyond the door. He was curious. Wanted the door opened. I showed Tony how to pick the lock. With a penny. And he was impressed. And he saw that it was only a storage closet. Mops and buckets and dusting cloths. And one day Tony asked me for a penny. So he could pick the lock. And he did. And it was so much fun. Tony was delighted. He had a sense of accomplishment. And I kidded Tony. “If the cops come looking for you some day,” I told Tony, “this closet will be a good hide-out.” And Tony knew enough to laugh. To be happy. Joyful. To still feel alive. To still be able to learn the art of picking a lock. To satisfy one’s innate curiosity…to find what’s beyond the door. –Jim Broede

...no greater achievement.

I distrust institutions. I think organizations tend to separate ourselves from each other. We need to cultivate one-on-one relationships. Outside of institutions. That’s why I avoid churches, for instance. I want to know the minister intimately. One-on-one. But in the institutional setting, the minister doesn’t have time for me. He/she is spread too thin. Tending to the flock. That’s our mistake. We never really get to know each other. Because we are too busy trying to be all things to all people. I find fulfillment in one-on-one relationships. Because then our focus is narrowed – on to each other. That’s the way it should be. I find that love of masses of people is virtually impossible. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am for the common good. For doing what’s good for society as a whole. But to be an effective lover, one must focus one-on-one. Treat each individual as distinct and separate. And to love an individual unconditionally. If one truly loves one other, then one has learned to love. In a very real way. Rather than in an abstract way. To fully relate to another human being – yes, there can be no greater achievement than that. --Jim Broede

What's going on, ladies?

More and more, it's hard for me to fathom the hate I've managed to stir. The obsession. Some of these ladies just can't seem to leave it alone. Hey, I can feel dislike for a few people. But I don't hate. And the ones that I dislike, I have no problem more or less ignoring them. I don't go to their blogs. Friends encourage me to go there. To see for myself. But I don't. I only learn secondhand about the vitriol. And it really, truly doesn't bother me. I just consider the source. The hate-mongers. What has this world come to? I see it in the world of politics, too. And so many people are just plain up tight. Unhappy. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm imagining some of this stuff? I don't think so. There seems to be a permeating mood of despair and negativity. At least in the Ladies Aid Society. What's going on, ladies? --Jim Broede

So we could learn from each other.

I want people to feel comfortable around me. Not necessarily because of our similarities. But rather because of our dissimilarities. I want that person to feel accepted despite our differences. I like the notion of live and let live. In many ways, I’m more attracted to people who don’t look, think and act like me than I am to those who do. I’m stimulated by differences. I’m intrigued by people who have lived vastly different lives than I. The problem in human society, it seems to me, is our tendency to cluster likes with likes. So many of us want to be associated and surrounded by our clones, so to speak, our look-a-likes, our think-a-likes, our act-a-likes. Why is that? Am I the strange one for wanting to live in a diverse world? I’m a bit wary of organizations and institutions that consist of people who share commonness. Think-a-likes. I’m for more organizations that encourage tolerance, not necessarily commonness of thoughts and actions. We can be different sorts of people. Distinct individuals. And still live in harmony. Yes, by treating each other with respect and tolerance. I have no overwhelming desire to live with my clone. Just the opposite. I’d rather live with someone vastly different. So I could practice tolerance and respect. So we could learn from each other. --Jim Broede

Because there's nothing more precious than love.

I’m moved by some of the stories posted on the Alzheimer’s message boards. And here’s one of ‘em, written by a woman named Angela. Made me a bit sad. But happy, too. Because there will be survivors and loving memories.

Hello, I am new here. This is my first post. I got out of bed a little while ago and actually have an hour of free time. I am a wife and mother of 3 boys, ages 13, 11, and 6. I am also the daughter to a wonderful woman that is in the last stages of Alzheimer's. My parents are my best friends. They always have been. My story really is a long one, but I will try to make it short. My mother has been diagnosed for a few years. She is only 63 years old. My dad, who also is very dear to me, kept her at home as long as he could. He still works full time (he is only 61). I would go over to take care of her every day on my lunch. In June, on my lunch, I found her passed out on the floor under the bed covered in bloody stool and urine. I got her somewhat awake and sat and held her until help arrived. She cried and kept calling me "mommy." I knew when we left she would never return home. After a 7-day hospital stay we had to take her to a nursing home, which has been a nightmare at times. She has had 2 more hospital stays since then. Her kidneys are enlarged and she cannot ever go with out a catheter now. She has had non-stop kidney infections. She does not walk now, and when we are not there she cries for us all day long while we are working. She calls my dad her daddy and me her mommy. We go see her every day. My dad goes every night and buys her something to eat and a milkshake, which she rarely eats/drinks. Her speech is very bad. She was always a calm gentle person and she curses the nurses and hits them. She does not leave her room at all. She has no awareness of the outside world or where she is. Her bowels are completely incontinent. If you leave the room and come back in she has no idea we were there a minute ago. When I go I clean her room because the nurses don't and I just sit with her. There are so many things I want to say, but I know she would not understand so I don't say them because I don't want to confuse her further. I bought her a baby doll, which I believe was the best thing I could do. She calls him by my youngest son's name. She really thinks he is a baby and hers. It gives her some companionship while we are not there. I am just a mess. I worry about my dad being so lonely. I see him go home into an empty house and know he has nothing. I also am trying to be a wife and mom to 3 boys that have multiple extra curricular activities. I work full time. I cry in my sleep because I can't fix this and I worry non-stop. I feel like I am being stretched so many ways and I have nobody to talk to. My husband changes the subject when I tell him I am falling apart. He doesn't understand why I have to go every day to see her. We live about 20 miles from the nursing home. I know I am rambling, but this is just pouring out of me. Sorry. I went to Kohl's last night by myself to get away. They had Christmas music playing and tears just started flowing down my cheeks. I probably looked like a crazed goof ball. Christmas was my mom's favorite, I don't know how I can enjoy it or if she'll even make it until then. My dad is just so devastated. He won't come over and visit or anything because he said if she can't (come to), he just can't. I love my mom and dad so much. What do you do to make this better?

Here’s what I told Angela:

You express yourself very well. You know how to share your feelings. That's exactly what you have to keep doing. And at some point, you have to accept what is happening. To you. To your mom. And your dad. To the entire family. The goodness I see in all this is that you genuinely love the people around you. And it's sad to see them suffer. It hurts. Not only them. But you. But this happens. Love hurts. But in the long run, the good feelings of love prevail. Time will heal the wounds. And you'll be so thankful for having loved and for having been loved. Really, there's nothing better than that. I think that losing a loved one hurts more than anything. But ultimately, you learn that's a price worth paying. Because there's nothing more precious than love. –Jim Broede

What is love?

I guess I'm asking, what is love? I'm suggesting that the mere statement, "I love you," is not enough. I'm suggesting that in some ways love is not love until it's unconditional. It's that for better or for worse thing. Just because one's spouse has Alzheimer's is no reason to stop loving him/her. In fact, it's even more reason to love. And what about the edict to love one's enemy? That's a pretty tough thing to do. How does one achieve love of one's enemy? What must one do to get there? I guess I'm suggesting that we humans tend to not love enough. And if that's the case, does it stop short of pure or unconditional love? Is it all right to put qualifications and conditions on love and still call it love? I always question whether I've loved enough. In most instances, my answer would be, no I haven't. Yes, it's quite possible I've loved to some significant degree, but, let's say, in the eyes of god, it still comes up short. I rather suspect that the overwhelming majority of us have never loved anyone unconditionally. To the point where we would even give up our lives for our "loved" one. --Jim

I want to believe in the impossible.

If one is truly in love with another, it makes life tolerable. One can have a lot go wrong in one’s life, and still be happy. By falling back on one’s love connection. In my case, with Jeanne. Something awful could happen in my job, or in some other aspect of my life. But if I had Jeanne to console me, if I had someone to love, that would pull me through. The love connection was always my sustenance. My refuge of last resort. And the same for Jeanne. Jeanne could fall back on me. I would console Jeanne. Jeanne is what made me feel not alone. And I, in turn, tried to make Jeanne feel not alone. In other words, we were kindred and loving spirits. To be there for each other. In the toughest of times. If Jeanne and I ever felt harshly about each other, if we were maybe falling out of love, we didn’t let it happen. We reconciled. And it took time for a sort of unconditional love to evolve. It took shared experiences. The kind of experiences that are cumulative – that require time. The more time we had together, the deeper the love. Love is far, far from an in instantaneous thing. One can’t eliminate the time element. When Jeanne and I got married, we might have said we were in love. But that’s all it was. An empty saying. Maybe even now that’s all it is. But all I know is that it’s much, much more than what it was 40 years ago. It was relatively shallow love then. And maybe if we had another 40 years together, we’d look back and say it was still shallow. I’m of the notion that there’s a spiritual dimension. A spirit world. I want to meet up with Jeanne again. In a place where there’s an intermingling of our spirits. A blending of our souls. A forever-ness. I want to settle for nothing less. I want it all. Everlasting love. That’s what makes me a romantic. An idealist. I want to believe in the impossible. --Jim

DiDi's husband will be better for it. And so will she.

The woman’s name is DiDi. And she’s a darn good care-giver. She’s been caring for her husband for years. More or less full-time. But DiDi may be reaching a breaking point.

Here’s what she had to say on the Alzheimer’s message board today:

“DH (dear husband) went to bed without me. He never does that, but I think the time change confused him. Today for the first time I had feelings of not being able to do this, not being able to see it through to the end. I have never thought this way before. I trust so fiercely in God, and the knowledge that he is in control, and has a plan; but this is so hard. I fight back tears almost everyday, and feel so much grief. I try so hard to stay upbeat for him, but each day he pulls me down. He is so sad, and angry. It's not that we sit here all day and feel gloomy. I keep him busy daily with things he used to enjoy, but nothing seems to ever be enough. I keep looking for answers, a better way, a solution, but there just doesn't seem to be one. I don't even know where I am going with this post. Maybe I should just go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.”

Well, I couldn’t leave this one alone. I had to comment. Because I feel DiDi’s pain. I went through similar agony, too.

Yes, DiDi, sometimes it gets to be too much. You've held up well to this point. I take it you are pretty much 24/7. But when you go at it year after year, and when your husband declines, it gets harder and harder and harder. Quite possibly you will reach a breaking point. And that's no shame. It happens. You can only do so much. Endure so much. It's quite possible that you'll have to place your husband some day. Soon. I had to do it with Jeanne. Those last 38 months. But I didn't abandon Jeanne. And there's no need for you to abandon your husband. You just need help in caring for him. You can still be with him. Daily. But you need to start getting breaks. Respite. Preferably on a daily basis. Don't wear yourself out to the point that you break down. Sounds to me like you've done an admirable job. Up to this point. Now you may have to consider alternatives. Like placement. Instead of 24 hours a day with husband, maybe you'll have to settle for 8-10 hours. That's still lots of time. Quality time. And it'll be a picnic compared to 24/7. And your husband will be better for it. And so will you. –Jim Broede

...to focus on the wonderful aspects of life.

Life is filled with ups and downs. In my case, far more ups than downs. That keeps me going. And I create a world – maybe an imaginary world – which I’d call a world of uppers. I create a world that makes sense. A world that I can believe in. A world filled with the notion of love. Unconditional love. And it works. It makes me happy. If I’m in a downer, I find a way to refocus. On things that buoy my morale. My spirit. Maybe it’s just going for a walk along the lakeshore or in the woods. I put on 10 miles a day. Or 300 miles in a month. Or maybe it’s communing with god. Or with Jeanne in a spirit world. Or maybe it’s watching the Cubs play baseball. Or maybe it’s playing with my dear cats Lover Boy and Little Black Lady. For years, it was being a loving care-giver for my beloved Jeanne. Oh, so many, many ways to focus on the wonderful aspects of life. –Jim Broede

...the greatest stress-reliever of all.

I tried to create a virtually stress-free environment for Jeanne. And in so doing, I more or less relieved my stress. It’s a little like loving someone. When one exudes love, it’s usually reciprocated. Creates a good feeling. Seems to me that to be relatively stress-free, one must be rested. When I’m tired and stretched thin, I’m more prone to stress. Physical and mental stress. When I’m rested, I tend to be in a good mood. Happy. And I try to live in slow motion. I don’t like to rush. Before I retired, I wrote for newspapers. And I had deadlines. Especially for breaking news. The adrenaline flowed. Which is all right, if you’re enjoying yourself. But as I got older, I began to think that writing in a hurry was nonsense. Now I can take my time. And write pretty much as I please. Without trying to please an editor. Instead, I please myself. I feel more free. And freedom – well, that’s a great reliever of stress. Oh, and I have addictions. But positive ones. I’m addicted to exercise. I need vigorous exercise. Daily. It relieves stress. And I like to work in the outdoors. Gardening. Another great reliever of stress. And I’m addicted to writing. I have to write every day. It stimulates my mind and, of course, it relieves stress. Meanwhile, I try to avoid negative addictions. I’ve never smoked, other than secondhand smoke. I’ve never had a desire to smoke. I have an occasional beer. With a meal. And, oh yes, I’m addicted to love. I find it necessary to be in love all the time. With somebody or something. Currently, I’m in love with Jeanne. With Jeanne’s spirit, that is. That’s the greatest stress reliever of all. --Jim Broede

I know the sadness will pass. Always has.

I think we all have full lives. We all have 24-hour days. And 7-day weeks. I’m retired, technically speaking. But I see myself as busier than ever. More active than ever. And maybe even more fulfilled than ever. By that, I mean I feel more alive. More with it. Maybe because I’m learning to live in the moment. To savor so many little things. To appreciate being alive. To reflect. And to tell myself, hey, this ain’t a bad life. Living is good. And yes, there are a hundred million things I’d like to do with my life, with the remaining years. But I can’t do it all. But that’s the wonderful thing. I’m able to pick and choose. Instead of lamenting about what I can’t get around to, I rejoice because I have so many, many choices. The important thing is that I can be me. And the more I am me, the better I feel. The happier I am. And I am as busy as any of you. Wonderfully busy. Even when I go to sleep, I am busy. I’m thinking. Wonderful thoughts. And sometimes I dream, wonderful thoughts. And when I first wake in the morning, I resume thinking. Wonderful thoughts. And even when I’m sad, I feel a bit wonderful. Because I know the sadness will pass. Always has. --Jim Broede

Or would you change me? And if so, in what way?

I wrote the words that follow to one person. Posing significant questions. But the more I stopped to ponder and really think about it, I sort of mean it as an open letter to humanity. To my fellow beings. So, here, after just a little bit of minor editing, is what I had to say.

My dear friends and fellow human beings:

You know, I love sharing thoughts. With the handful of people I like. Thoughts make the world go round. I like to share my joy. My happiness. Much more than my sadness. For instance, I love sharing Jeanne. Always will. Because Jeanne has become a vital part of me. Forever. I guess I don't mind sharing Jeanne. And sharing a handful of close friends. Friends that are a good influence on me. And I hope it goes the other way, too. That I am a good influence on my friends. My life, or so it seems to me, is sort of like living in a novel. A story that keeps unfolding. Daily. A new chapter every day. And mainly, I see happiness. By turning to the likes of my few friends. Did you know that you are a big source of my happiness, dear friends? And I have this compulsion to tell the world about it. And tell each of you about it. Directly. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I walk naked in this world. And I'm not ashamed of it. Not afraid or embarrassed to be naked. Because it shows me who I am. And others, too. Lots of people don't like what they see. Which is unfortunate. But a handful have learned to accept me as I am. I think that includes my friends. I don't know. I'll find out in time. I want you to know, dear friends, that I can accept you as you are. Can you do that with me? Or would you change me? And if so, in what way? --Jim Broede