When I left for the Alzheimer’s Forum in D.C., I
decided to hide some of my electronics. There’s no use in making life easier
for a pesky burglar who might try to make a dime off my personal property.
I suppose if my PC was stolen, I could buy a new one. More
important to me are the external drives that hold my photos and data files. I
took one camera with me and hid the other. Also, before I travel, I lighten my
purse. There’s no point in taking all my credit cards or gift cards. Heaven
forbid that a thief would snatch my purse and abscond with my library card.
If you are going to hide something, even in a house as big
as this one, you have to tuck away valuables somewhere other than the usual
places: bathroom cabinets, back of underwear drawer, etc. My bad that I didn’t
write down the creative hidey-holes I found. After all, I was going to be gone
for nearly a week, and my mind was going to be spinning like a Texas tornado on
a sultry summer day.
Sure enough, I spent an action packed time in D.C. Being
around caregivers and persons living with the disease flooded my heart with
memories. The Alzheimer’s forum was emotionally draining this year because of
the timing. April 5 was Jim’s homecoming from Vietnam. It was a special day for
us, and we always celebrated.
Then, the trip home seemed more grueling than usual. I
really had no complaints other than the plane ride was a little bumpy, and we
landed in a forty mile-an-hour wind. I’m not nervous about flying at all, but I
did breathe a small sigh of relief when the plane stopped, and the flight
attendant said, “Ta-da!” By the time I picked up my car and drove home, it was
bedtime and I was exhausted.
After I caught up on my rest, it was time to gather up my
hidden treasures. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I had hidden my
camera. I kept returning to a place where I thought I’d hidden it, only to come
up empty. As I wandered aimlessly through the house, I saw something that
triggered my memory and suddenly knew where it was.
Three days later, I remembered all the cards I’d taken out
of my purse. After a moment of sheer panic, I re-checked the place where I thought
I’d hidden my camera, now looking for something smaller. Whew! I could mentally
check off the last item on my lost and found list.
I couldn’t help but think about another April anniversary. Eleven
years ago, we lost Jim. That loss was so great that even though my mind knew it
was coming, my heart wasn’t ready. As time ticks by today, I can’t help but
think about those last moments of holding Jim’s hand, playing his favorite
songs, and watching the light go out of his eyes. In the early morning hours of
April 18, he left us.
Anger was the emotion that surprised me the most when Jim
died. I was so angry that this horrible disease happened to him, to us, to our
family. I was furious that he had lost ten years of being Jim before the
disease took life itself from him.
I couldn’t stay angry forever, and eventually I found peace.
I knew that given the choice, Jim would not have wanted to live the last decade
of his life lost in the world of dementia. He would have much rather have spent
the last years of his life strumming his guitar, fishing, playing with our
grandkids, and camping out at Moraine Park in the Rocky Mountain National
Park. He would have preferred going out in a blaze of glory.
Jim was lost to this world, but I rediscovered my memories
of him. You might say that I found them. As for Jim, I believe he found that
cabin in the corner of Glory Land he used to sing about, and he walks a
well-worn path to his favorite fishing hole.
Copyright © April 2016 by L.S.
Fisher
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