The way to live. With Alzheimer's.

When visiting my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron, I become effusive. Downright gregarious. It’s as if I’m taking full charge. Compelling Ron to get with it. The kind of good vibes that tend to stimulate Ron. I set the tone. The young student nurse. Helped put Ron in a wheelchair. Readying him for a ride. Outdoors. And when she started to zip up Ron’s jacket, she acted timidly. Too timidly. Ron resisted. Pushed her away. Acted like Mr. Tough Guy. I intervened.  Took charge. Took command. ‘Hey, Ron,’ I said firmly. ’Act like a Norwegian gentleman. Let me do this.’ I zipped up the jacket. Looking directly into Ron’s eyes. Ron got the message. I’m his friend. And he knew. We were going outdoors. He was about to be set in motion. Forward. Forward. Forward. I cajoled Ron. Reminded him. We were about to pursue one of his favorite pastimes. Sure, it was cold. About 10 degrees. A fluffy snow on the ground, too. Ron’s lap. Covered with soft, cushy blankets. A knit cap. .Drooped over his head. Mittens over his hands. And away we went. Up and down the snow-covered paved trail. Through the woods. A good workout. For me. A dazzling winter wonderland for Ron. I talked. Almost incessantly. Describing.  For Ron’s benefit. Everything that we were seeing. And experiencing. Ron was my captive audience. When we returned. To the warm comfort. of Ron’s cocoon. A five-bed residential home with no resemblance to a nursing home. It was obvious. Ron felt at ease. Laughing, Rollicking. Having a good time. No belligerence. Life. Flowing. Smoothly. Ron lifted himself. Out of the wheelchair. Walked to the dining table. About to savor.  A baked potato. With sour cream and chives. Melted cheese and broccoli, too. Everyone was happy. Ah, this is the way to live. With Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede