Sure beats depression.

It would be interesting to interview you as to how you avoided depression as a caregiver, a writer told me. So I've thought about it. At first, I surmised it might have been a lucky roll of the dice. A genetic immunity to depression. But I know better. My dear sweet Jeanne died of Alzheimer's. Almost five years ago. After a 13-year bout (since diagnosis) with the disease. Initially, it was a shock. Accepting the diagnosis. I coped for a while by going into denial. It wasn't until the last 38 months of Jeanne's life that I really got my care-giver act fully together. At the lowest ebb. Thinking momentarily that I had failed. Because I put Jeanne into a nursing home. I could no longer handle 24/7 care-giving. It was too debilitating. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. But alas, the decision to go the nursing home route turned out to be the right one. A blessing. Because suddenly I became a dedicated 8-10 hour a day care-giver. Getting much-needed daily respite. I was with Jeanne every day for 38 months and one day. Until she died on Jan. 18, 2007. But I came home around 10 o'clock. After giving Jeanne her nightly shower. And putting her to bed. I had fully learned to accept the disease. To accept my role as care-giver to my true love of 38 years. I learned how to love. Actually. Actively. Some people find it hard to believe. That I learned to enjoy caring for Jeanne. I hand-fed her lunch and supper. In her room. Face to face. Away from the turmoil of the congregate dining room. Took her outdoors daily. In a wheelchair. Sometimes pushing the chair all the way home. Along six miles of roadside. So that Jeanne could sit out along her familiar lakeshore. And to commune with her cats. In the cold Minnesota winters, we still went outdoors. Jeanne nestled in a thermol sleeping bag. Maybe for the first time in my life I learned the craft/art of love. Jeanne, it turns out, was my teacher. In her own way. To be a lover. Instead of being a depressed recluse. And now, five years later, I'm still practicing being that romantic idealist. Living life artfully. The way it was meant to be. In love. I have another true love. A wonderful, beautiful and intelligent Italian woman. We're living together. In Sardinia. In Paradise. Just the way Jeanne would have wanted my life to evolve. As a true blue lover. Sure beats depression. --Jim Broede