Wishing.

It’s heartbreaking. Watching a dedicated Alzheimer’s care-giver. My neighbor Julie, for instance. She’s been tending to her dad for five years, and counting. In her own home. And there’s disappointment. Almost daily. Because Julie wishes her dad was like what he used to be. A keen mind. That enabled him to work productively. As a scientist. At 3M Co. Instead, dad withers away. There’s a consolation. Dad continues to maintain a positive and amiable disposition. Most of the time. He isn’t belligerent. He knows how to feign being a little bit with it. He still laughs. He acts happy. But dad knows he isn’t himself any more. And he’s incontinent. Has ‘accidents’ often. Used to be embarrassing. For him. For others. Now everybody learns to live with it. In a way, Julie is caring for a child. One that she desperately wants to see succeed. Instead, he fails. Repeatedly. And Julie has to learn to accept that. The disappointment. The wishing that all were well once again. –Jim Broede