'You'll be loved forever.'

I suspect that we too often give up too easily on people in our lives. On Alzheimer patients, for instance. We write them off. Because we think they can't get better. That they no longer have a useful life. But that's not true. I think my Jeanne had a useful and meaningful life for the 13 years after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I learned that Jeanne could be reached. That she was developing a one-track mind. But that by getting her to focus on one thing at a time, she could find comprehension. And even enjoyment and pleasure. I kept Jeanne out of the congregate dining area at the nursing home. Because there was too much activity. Too many distractions. Instead, I was able to feed Jeanne in the quiet of her room. Face-to-face. One-on-one. Focused on the pleasure of taste. On eating. In the evening, I'd wheel Jeanne down to the shower room. And she would feel the pleasure of warm water. Of being dried with a soft towel. The feel of a body lotion massage. Grasping an isolated moment. And Jeanne would fall asleep with earphones, listening to her favorite soft, soothing music. In the morning, Jeanne would be taken out in a wheelchair. To feel the sunshine. And a fresh breeze on her face. Maybe when we returned to her room, I'd comb her hair. Yes, I'd get her to focus on the pleasure of a comb or brush moving slowly through her hair. And I'd always speak softly, gently, lovingly. No harsh tones. Even on the day Jeanne died, I whispered in her ear. "It's all right to let go, my sweet love. You'll be loved forever." --Jim