On This Date

 

After I was completing my two-year degree at State Fair Community College, the job placement office sent me to an interview at Full Cry Magazine. I worked in subscriptions at Full Cry until the owners sold the company and the office moved to Boody, Illinois.

Toward the end of 1980, I was in the job market so I registered with the SFCC employment office. In the meantime, I was spreading my resume like confetti to any place that would take it. I tried to leave a resume at the electric cooperative because I had a premonition many years before that I would work there someday. They weren’t taking resumes and hadn’t hired any new employees in the past seven years.

About a week later, I received a letter from the college asking me if I would be interested in working on a computer at a company that would train. Although my computer skills were non-existent, I always liked to learn new things. That afternoon I interviewed at the same electric cooperative that wouldn’t take my resume. Ed Walters told me later that as soon as I left, he turned to Harold Ream and said, “She’s the one.”

On December 4, 1980, the trajectory of my life changed. I began my career at CMEC and our family had the kind of stability that we had never had. From day one, I loved the challenge of the job. As I took on new roles and learned new skills, I was never once bored in the 33 years I worked at the Cooperative.

Jim and I began to take vacations in Colorado, and we fell in love with Rocky Mountain National Park. We camped, relaxed, and enjoyed the clear mountain air. After Jim started having cognitive issues, we still enjoyed the mountains, but stayed in a hotel or cabin. We still enjoyed animal watching, visiting our favorite places, and going on short hikes.

Throughout the ten years that Jim gradually became worse, the Cooperative allowed me the flexibility I needed to arrange in-home care for him. It was a time of uncertainty as family members had to fill in the gaps with the professional caregivers I hired. Before long, I was running on caffeine and fumes. I was working as much as I could, using vacation, my day off to make sure Jim was safe. Everyone was understanding when I had to grab my purse and head for home when Jim wandered off and wouldn’t get into the car with anyone else.

The second hardest decision I ever made was to place Jim in a nursing home. The hardest was when he was kicked out of the first home, and I had to find a new one for him. For five years, our family and I checked in on him almost daily to make sure he ate and was clean and dry  When Jim passed away, I felt like a part of me died too. We had been married 35 years.

I lived alone in the house that Jim and I built for fourteen years. Then, in 2014, I married Harold and moved into his house. Yes, we all called it Harold’s house for a long time. I found out being a farmer’s wife had its challenges. One of the first projects we completed was preparing metal rails for a farm fence. We lugged those all over the shop as we sanded, primed, and painted them. He dragged me into other projects until one day when he had me lifting heavy landscaping bricks into the bucket of his tractor, I said I’d rather drive the tractor than lift the buckets. Anyway, Harold was used to teaching me new skills and I drove the tractor while he did the heavy lifting.

During our marriage, I learned to rely on Harold, and after his health declined, he learned to rely on me. Toward the end of his life, he made it plain to the doctors that we didn’t make major decisions without talking it over. When Harold passed away, I discovered that being widowed the second time was more traumatic than the first time.  It may be because I’m older, or it may be that until the end, I hoped that he would get to come home.

As hard as it is at times, life goes on. Harold taught me as much as he could and with the written procedures, I can do most of the work that needs to be done. He at least gave me a list of who to call when something goes wrong. And, boy, have I needed that list.

Tomorrow night is the Cooperative’s employee appreciation dinner. The first time Jim, the kids, and I went was in 1980 a few days after I had taken the job at the Cooperative. I only knew the first names of the office employees. Harold and I went to the dinners until he had too much trouble walking. Many of the current employees and retirees we worked with were at the dinner.

This year, I’ll see old friends and meet new ones, but I know I’ll be missing the ones that won’t be there.  

 

Copyright © December by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Counting Blessings

 I am blessed. I am not bragging; I am grateful for the blessings in my life.

I was driving to town today listening to my sixties channel on the radio and realized that looking from the inside out, the sun shone as brightly as it ever did. Suddenly, I realized that for the first time in years, my body was free of aches and pains. What a blessing to feel normal.

As usual, when I take Cedar Drive, I drove into the cemetery on the loop that takes me past Harold’s resting place. As I looked at the inscription, I thought about how blessed I am to have loved him and known his love. The last five years of his life was filled with medical issues, and we faced that trying time together. I thought of the late night calls this time last year when he reached out to me because he knew that if he needed me, I’d be there for him.

Harold taught me confidence and technical skills. Although I sometimes thought something was beyond my abilities, he had infinite patience to teach me. During our marriage, he taught me more about personal finance and investments than I had ever known. He instilled in me a love of the land and the importance of crop management. Harold also respected my independence and supported me in all my various interests. On a personal level, trusted me completely.

For all his toughness, Harold had a sentimental and soft side that I think he only showed to his mother, and later to me. I have a huge box of Hallmark cards that he gave to me to put into words the feelings in his heart. I was blessed to have Harold in my life.

My thoughts often turn to Jim and the financially hard years when we lived on love. I suppose that a betting person might have thought we wouldn’t make it, but who cares what the odds are when life is the way it should be. We learned to live within our means and found that the luxuries we sacrificed weren’t even missed. To this day, I have no desire for overpriced items, and am content with what I have.

From Jim, I learned generosity. We never had much, but Jim was always willing to share with someone who had less. I always wanted to save for a rainy day, but Jim cared more for the people without an umbrella. We enjoyed rides though the country, visiting family, jam sessions, and an occasional treat to the movies or eating out where we could get five tacos for a dollar. When life became more settled, we camped in Colorado where we animal watched, ate ice cream in Estes Park, and window shopped for Pueblo pottery and storytellers.

Life took quite a turn for us when Jim slipped into the world of dementia. I missed his sense of humor, storytelling, and the quiet moments of sitting by a campfire with a cup of coffee and our conversations about life, faith, and love. Jim changed in many ways, and I loved him through each step. I knew the Jim that dwelled inside his heart and mine. I count Jim as one of my greatest blessings.

Of course, we all know that children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, brothers, sisters, parents, and extended family are our lifelong blessings. From birth to old age, when we have family and friends, we are rich beyond all earthly treasures.

We are blessed. 

Copyright © November by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

A Week of Chaos

A week of mishaps, equipment failures, and my pets misbehavior had me thinking about Calamity Jane. Many stories abound as to how the frontierswoman, storyteller, and sharp shooter gained her nickname. Did she earn the nickname when she saved a wounded army captain from a Native American uprising? Or was it because she led a difficult and chaotic life? My favorite theory is that she warned men that if they offended her, they would “court calamity.”

The first event of the week was when my trusty, outdated PC died of old age. OK, I’ve known for quite some time that I needed to update my equipment, but my Scarlett O’Hara attitude that “Tomorrow is another day” met a calamitous, abrupt end. On a day when I needed it most, my PC opted out. Both of my grandkids attempted to get the PC to start, but even their expertise didn’t work.

So, I ordered a new PC and while I waited for it to come in, I used Harold’s PC. Since most of our data is on the Synology, I was able to complete several tasks. Each day, I realized that a variety of programs and files were stored on my old PC and life would be more difficult without them.

When my new PC arrived at my door step, I called Murlin Computers to see what could be done. Of course, Jacob was able to get the info off my old PC and set up the new one for me. It helps to know “people” who can help in an electronic crisis.

Feeling all good about everything, I decided to take my mom and aunt to the “boat” (aka/the casino.) As I bee-bopped out of my mom’s house, I face planted on the sidewalk. My sister-in-law Kathy immediately came to see how injured I was. I looked at her and asked, “Did I knock my teeth out?” One of my front teeth was caved inward, my lip was swollen, and I was bleeding from my mouth. Kathy gave me a wet washcloth and called my dentist. After a quick trip to my dentist, she patiently waited for the hours it took to put the tooth back in socket and make an impression for a retainer. So far so good, hopefully the tooth is in to stay, and another catastrophe is averted.

What week would be complete without my dog and kitten having a chase. The kitten is new, and the dog doesn’t want to share yard space with it. So, I took the dog outside and here came the kitten to taunt the dog, of course. The dog started frantically trying to catch the kitten, and the kitten slipped into the tangle of overgrown foliage next to the back door, slipped under the outside heat pump unit, and disappeared somewhere near the retaining wall. The dog was frantically tracking the kitten she couldn’t see, slipped her leash and totally ignored my shrieks to “come back” as I chased her wearing flip flops. I caught up with her as she put her front feet on the retaining wall, hesitating as she apparently thought about jumping the twelve foot drop off on the other side.

My heart was pounding and I was shaking by the time I got the dog back into the house. She knew she was in trouble so she hid under the bed. The kitten finally showed up on the porch looking totally unperturbed by the chase. All animals were fine, me, not so much.

For a chaotic week, nothing reached the level of calamity. So, I guess, Calamity Jane had much greater hurdles to overcome that I did. Maybe the thing Jane and I have in common is sharpshooting. At least that’s what I told Jim when I was doped up during labor.  “Did you know that I used to be a sharp shooter in the circus?” I asked.

Although I later denied that I had ever been a sharp shooter in a circus, Jim said they had given me sodium pentothal so it must have been the truth.

 Well, after all, we all have our secrets.

 

Copyright © November by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

Cowboy Logic

 

I heard Michael Martin Murphey’s song “Cowboy Logic” on Facebook, and the same day saw a quote from the booklet Live and Learn and Pass It On that expressed the same idea. The smart place to ride in a truck is in the middle: you don’t have to drive and you don’t have to open the gate.

One of the things I loved about Jim was his sense of logic. We had our share of monetary problems when we were first married. One time when I was stressed over a mistake I had made with a payment, Jim put his arms around me and said, “Honey, anything you can fix by throwing money at it, isn’t a real problem.” That changed my entire way of thinking.

He was right. The real problems of life can’t be fixed with money.

On one of our trips to Colorado, Jim played a steady stream of Michael Martin Murphey tapes, including “Cowboy Logic.” Mom and I decided that we never wanted to hear Michael Martin Murphey sing again. Time heals all wounds, and when I posted “Cowboy Logic” on Facebook, we both listened to the song and expressed our nostalgia for the Colorado trips.

On that trip to Estes Park, Jim was experiencing more symptoms from his dementia. Mom and my nephew Jason were with us. I think they were worried that I couldn’t manage Jim alone. An excerpt from Indelible:

Jim insisted on eating cottage cheese and pineapple with every meal, including breakfast. We fixed most meals in the cabin, so he could have the food he wanted.

The cabin was a new environment, and Jim couldn’t figure out how to work the water in the shower, so I helped him. Then, I helped him dress. One morning while I took a shower, Jim walked out the door and down the road.

“Jim’s gone out the door,” Mom told me.

I shut off the water, “See if Jason can catch him.”

By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, Jason and Jim came through the door.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I told him you needed to talk to him,” Jason said. “When I told him that, he turned around and came back.”

We spent our evenings on the river walk drinking large cups of flavored coffee from MacGregor Bookstore. Jim’s favorite entertainment in Estes Park was the Lazy-B Ranch Boys’ dinner show. Jim was enthusiastic and happy.

In his hesitant speech he talked to one of the performers before the show. The man invited Jim to come behind the counter and play his guitar. Jim eagerly picked up the guitar and played a few cowboy songs. Jim sang the song I’m Tellin’ You Friend, I Ain’t Had a Good Day.

I believe that this world could use “Cowboy” or any kind of logic now. Maybe then, we wouldn’t have so many bad days.

 Copyright © October 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

History

I recently found a 100-year-old American History book that once belonged to Madie Ream, Home Room 109. This book contains an emphasis on political and constitutional issues and is written in a readable narrative format.

I’ll admit that either I’ve forgotten a lot of the history I studied in school, or our books glossed over much of it. I do not remember ever reading that during George Washington’s second term, he was compared to Nero, called a “tyrant,” “dictator” and “despot.” The most shocking to me was that some referred to him as the “step-father” of our country.

This reminds me of when my oldest son was a teen-ager and not prone to answering questions. He would say, “If you’re writing a book, just leave that chapter out.” It really makes perfect sense in today’s world.

Each of us has a history and sometimes we leave out chapters if we are recounting past events. In my defense, I seem to have forgotten big chunks of my personal history. I hear other people tell stories “that seem like yesterday” and in my opinion, it’s more like another lifetime, or actually about someone else.

But then, I can re-read my past blog posts and not recall writing some of them. When I read “Indelible” (which was transcribed from my recordings in real time), sometimes I can’t retrieve the actual memory. I also left some chapters out because they were too painful to tell, reflected badly on another person, or too private to share with others.

We all have good chapters and bad chapters, joyful chapters and sad chapters, but most of all, we have the forgotten chapters: the days that hummed along, uneventful, and so boring that they didn’t earn a spot in our short-term or long-term memory.

When tragedy hits, stress and heartache are present for a huge chunk of our lives. When we awaken for a new day—the first thought is a surge of grief. When we lie down to sleep—the last thought is the heartache of loss.

With time, grief becomes manageable and entire days go by without tears, but not without thoughts and memories. Sometimes waves of sorrow wash over us with the force of a tsunami from the epicenter of pain.

Given enough healing and fortitude, the sun will shine again and warm our souls. Life marches on with a blur of days, events, obligations, and celebrations. Some people live with chaos, and have to etch out moments of inner peace. Some of us live a life that has little drama and limited stress.

When my life is over, I hope people will remember the good I’ve done and forget the chapters when I fell short of the mark. I’m only human and I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve learned more from mistakes that I have from getting it right the first time.

Someday, each of us will be history. Some of us will be like Madie, who wrote two poems and an observation in the front of her history book. Like me, when she found something that caught her attention, she wrote it down to remember it later.

A person who never knew her (me) smiled when I read, “Life is one darn thing after another; love is two things after each other.” Versions of this quote have been attributed to various people, and Madie found it somewhere.

I’m sure I would have liked Madie, and I tell her that when I visit her grave.

 

Copyright © October 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Happy Fall, Y’All

 Now that we’re a week into autumn, I’m beginning to get the seasonal spirit. Today I saw the grain truck go into the cornfield across the road. It brings back memories of my “ride-along” with Ivan several years ago in our cornfield.

My soybeans have taken on a golden hue. Early mornings on the farm offer a preview of autumn although mid-day seems more like the sweaty time of summer.

This has been a year of learning for Farmer Grandma. Thank goodness for Harold’s cousins and their years of experience and expertise. They plant the crops and harvest them. My job is to buy the seed and fertilizer and sell the grain. Simple? Oh, yeah, there’s also crop insurance, filling out forms for FSA, setting up the farm account, monitoring grain prices, praying for rain (but not flooding in the bottomland), and updating Quickbooks. For the past ten years, Harold has prepared me for the day when it would be my job to manage the farm. His confidence in me bolstered my confidence in myself. 

I once knew a guy who often said, “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” The same goes for girls. When you are raised country, living in town may not set well with your soul. At least that’s been my story.

When Jim first traveled the long and winding road to my house, he said, “You live so far back in the sticks that they need to pipe in sunshine.”

Unlike Jim, I grew up in one home. His family traveled across country on a spur of the moment whim. He lived in several homes in multiple states throughout his youth.

After Jim and I married, we lived in four different towns. We lived in Manhattan, Kansas while he was stationed at Fort Riley. We moved to Redmond, Oregon, because Jim was homesick for Oregon until he became more homesick for Missouri. I was not happy in Sedalia for reasons too numerous to mention. The last town we lived in was Versailles, Missouri, where at that time, grocery stores closed so early that by the time I needed something, I was out of luck.

These towns weren’t big, but they all had other people living within spitting distance. To Jim’s credit, he didn’t like town life anymore than I did. Once we moved to the country, we both agreed that we were never moving to town again. Rural life is for me and here I’ll stay, unless someday I’m hauled kicking and screaming to a nursing home.

I’m looking forward to the days of autumn when the weather has that slight chill that makes a flannel shirt feel just right. I want to sit on my wrought iron chair, drink a cup of hot coffee, and watch the Ream brothers harvest my soybeans.

I want to enjoy the wildflowers that pop up in the road ditches, and along the edges of the yard. I want to watch the trees turn to vibrant colors of orange, golden yellow, red, or copper. Some years are more spectacular that others, but the colors of autumn are nature’s last hurrah.

When we lived in drafty houses, I spent too much of autumn dreading winter. Now, I savor the season. I guess if you compared life to the seasons, I’m in the winter of my life, but I haven’t forgotten autumn when I was younger and, most likely, more colorful.

The important thing with the seasons—just like life—is that time passes too swiftly. If we close our eyes to the beauty around us, it will be gone, and be replaced with a different scene.

Now, autumn is just beginning. We are in baby autumn, waiting for it to mature and become the pumpkin spice of a full-fledged season. I’m no longer a country “girl” but I appreciate the beauty of God’s brushstrokes with the eyes of the girl that once was.

 

Copyright © September 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Inside Out

 

First impressions matter. This is the advice we give to people who are job hunting, since a potential employer will size you up in the first seven seconds, or less, of meeting you. In addition to visual impressions, body language, and the tone of a person’s voice present a rapid subconscious evaluation of a prospective employee.

We also want to impress people that interest us romantically. Most of us are skeptical of love at first sight, but it does have a scientific basis. Along with the brain’s positive first impression, a chemical surge can cement the attraction.

The day I met Jim, was a textbook example of love at first sight, and what made it magical was the feelings were mutual. Of course, neither of us was crazy enough to admit it at that moment. Jim told me later that he was supposed to leave for Oregon the next morning, but after he met me, he cancelled the trip.

 Infatuation doesn’t always lead to enduring love. Sometimes the outside attraction doesn’t translate to inside attachment. In our case, our personalities clicked and love at first sight became a forever after.  

In life, one of the greatest mysteries is how the human body and brain gel into relationships. Romantic love may happen quickly, or it may grow from a slow realization that someone you have known for years has won a special place in your heart. No matter how it begins, love forms from the inside out.

No one has a happily ever after in real life, and love will be tested often in a long-term commitment. Finances, emotions, communication, trust, or a combination of circumstances can jeopardize the stability of a relationship.

One of the frequent issues, especially among older adults, is health. When the health of one person fails, another may be thrust into a caregiving role. Any serious health condition has a different set of problems.

When a spouse develops dementia, reciprocal love turns into unconditional love. A person with dementia may become incapable of expressing love outwardly, although they may have a strong emotional attachment inside.

It is important to express your love and show tenderness even if your loved one is nonverbal. After each visit at the nursing home, I would kiss Jim goodbye and say, “I love you.”

Jim had aphasia and rarely spoke, but one night he emphatically said, “I love you too.”

Jim spent the last five years of his life in the nursing home. When I read the Indelible manuscript, I realize those five years were an emotional rollercoaster. I went through all the stages of grief time after time, but I adjusted, and life assumed a different norm.

I think the most important lesson I learned was to make the most of each day. Even the bad days, or sad days, became precious memories. In the darkest times, I was grateful for the love of family and friends.

Philosophies of the best way to attain a fulfilling life are numerous and different for each individual human alive. While I walk this earth, I want to live life to the fullest and find inner peace to reconcile my emotions to the outward turmoil that disrupts my life from time to time.

 

Copyright © September 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

A Thousand Pieces

For no logical reason, I recently bought a thousand-piece puzzle. I’m not sure whether I was feeling optimistic, or if I was merely delusional.

I set up the card table in the sunroom with its good lighting and relaxing atmosphere. I dumped the puzzle and began to sort the edge pieces. That’s where I ran into my first obstacle. I couldn’t get the edge of the puzzle completed, and knew that if I couldn’t figure that out, I wouldn’t find the pieces to make the pretty Christmas picture.

After about a week of struggling with the “relaxing” project, I decided it needed a different surface. The card table was too soft and the pieces deceptively seemed to fit when they didn’t. As I tried to transfer the puzzle to the kitchen table, the sections that I had pieced together fell apart. Finally, I came to my senses and scooped the puzzle back into the box to give to my aunt. Although she has a knack for putting puzzles together, it seemed almost mean spirited of me.

Attempting that puzzle by myself after a twenty-five year hiatus made me think about the last thousand-piece puzzle I’d put together. Jim and I moved our drop-leaf table to the living room and dumped the puzzle onto it. I planned to work the puzzle with Jim. His dementia had gotten worse, and I thought the puzzle might help him focus.

Prior puzzles had been frustrating for me because Jim could fit pieces together with ease while I struggled. This time, we sat down to work on the puzzle, and Jim tried to force pieces together until frustrated, he stood up and wandered off.

I had forged on alone for several days when Jim walked by, picked up a puzzle piece, and walked off with it. By the time I had completed the puzzle, it was missing several pieces, evidence that Jim had picked up more than one piece.

When a person has dementia, their brain is much like a puzzle with an increasing number of missing pieces. To complete a puzzle, we have to connect all the pieces together. Our brain encodes all the pieces of information learned in our lifetime in 100 billion neurons that interconnect with (an estimated) 100 to 500 trillion synapses. In a healthy brain, these synapses communicate through a complicated process that releases neurotransmitters that allow the brain to function properly.

Alzheimer’s disease and other progressive types of dementia interrupt the synapses and result in neuron degeneration and brain cell death. The loss of neurons affects memory, learning, and reasoning. As the disease progresses, the damage spreads into other areas of the brain causing the brain to shrink.

We care partners have a difficult time accepting that we will become a bystander as our loved one progresses from memory glitches to the unlearning of dementia. As the greedy jaws of dementia swallow up pieces of memory and skills, we cling to the ones that remain. Without all the pieces, a beautiful picture and an amazing mind, fall apart in slow motion.

All I had to offer was love and the best care available. In Jim’s journey, the time came when I realized he needed more care than I could give him at home. When Jim went to live in his new home, our family never wavered in providing loving care for him.

 I may give up on a thousand-piece puzzle, but I have never given up on someone I love. Although the final picture didn’t turn out as I hoped or imagined that it would, I feel blessed to have known and loved a man named Jim.  

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright ©August 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Sundowning: Dusk to Dawn

 

When the sun goes down, one out of five persons with dementia will experience dramatic changes in behavior. Agitation increases, and they become irritable and anxious. This change can last for a short time or it may continue from dusk to dawn. As the caregiver’s energy wanes, the person with dementia has an energy surge that can last all night long.

I noticed a change in Jim’s nighttime behavior about four years into dementia. He had become restless and wandered during the day. We all became vigilant—even the neighbors—and worked toward keeping him safe.

If Jim wandered off when his mom was watching him, she would follow him with her car. For some reason, he would not get in the car with her, so she would call me on her car phone to tell me where he was walking. I’d leave work and pick him up. After he was safely at home, I would go back to work and hope that once was enough for that day.

It was also about that time that Jim began to roam at night. I would wake up and find him roaming around the house and cajole him into coming back to bed for a few more hours. Then, he would sleep during the day, and be wide awake when I wanted to go to bed.

Our family physician prescribed a sleep aid to help Jim rest more at night. After a short time, I realized he slept peacefully for four hours. Then, he was up and roaming. One night, I realized he wasn’t in the house so I jumped into my car and found him a few miles down the road. Jim was fully dressed, wearing sunglasses, and walking slowly with a cane.

I stopped the car and walked until I caught up with him. I latched onto the crook of his arm and  steered him to the car, turned around, and took him home. After that, I found an alarm for the door so that he couldn’t leave without me knowing.

Recently, I was reading an interesting article about the Hebrew Home of Riverdale, NY, that saw a need for night-care as well as daycare for persons with dementia. The official name of the  “Dusk to Dawn” program is ElderServe at Night.

The long-term care community provides transportation to and from the facility so that participants might channel their energy surge to a night of activities. The program caters to individual interests with everything from dancing to massage and relaxing music.

I had never heard of a nighttime program, but I finally found one facility locally that offered adult daycare. After about a week, Jim wandered away from the facility and they would not let him return. I can’t blame them for not wanting to be responsible for a man who headed out onto the highway carrying his guitar. At least, he was going in the direction of home.

Later when Jim went into long-term care, he wandered the halls at night with only fitful sleep. At first, he never slept in his bed but in the middle of the night, he would take short naps on the couch by the nurse’s station. Jim’s norm was to pace almost non-stop. He would take short breaks to eat, shower, and occasionally nap in his recliner during the day.

Later in the disease, Jim’s problems with balance caused him to fall often. With medication, he slept more at night and body alarms helped staff know when he was trying to get out of bed or out of his chair.

The one thing that bothered me most about the special care unit was how Jim lost his freedom. There’s a sense of injustice when someone who risked his life to defend his country’s freedom  lost his personal independence.

I often broke him out of the facility to take him on drives, walks in the park, and to drop by Dairy Queen for a milkshake. In the last months of his life, it became too difficult to load him in the van, so I brought him his favorite foods and wheeled him around the parking lot.

After Jim passed away, one evening I drove through Dairy Queen and ordered a milkshake. The kid at the window said, “Didn’t you used to bring your husband by for a milkshake?”

  “Yes, I did,” I said. I drove to the park, sat on a bench until dusk. My milkshake was long gone, along with the illusion that Jim was beside me. When I headed home, I knew dawn was a full night’s sleep away. The only thing to disturb my sleep would be broken dreams and sweet memories.

 

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright © August 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Helping Others Helps Yourself

 

My dad used to say that when you were in the army, you should never volunteer for anything. I believe that makes a lot of sense when you are in a warzone. I remember Jim sending letters home from Vietnam and telling me that his buddy, Webb, volunteered them to make trips to a place he called “Duc Duc.” I got the distinct impression that traveling to this place was more dangerous than staying in Long Bihn.

Although volunteering for a dangerous mission might not be good for your health, volunteering for a charitable organization has several health benefits. Helping others helps both mental and physical health.

I’ve been a volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association since 1998. As with most volunteers, I pitched in to help an organization that helped me. I was in contact with my local chapter from the time that Jim first developed symptoms. Over the years, I served on the Board of Directors, as a state and national advocate, support group facilitator, speaker, and chaired the local Walk.

When I read about the proven benefits of being a volunteer, I agree wholeheartedly. I often felt like I benefited more from being a volunteer than the Alzheimer’s Association benefited from me being a volunteer. 

Mental Benefits:

·       Reduces Stress, Anxiety, and Depression

·       Gives a Sense of Purpose

·       Increases Happiness

·       Encourages Social Interaction and Forges New Friendships

·       Promotes Emotional Healing

Mentally, volunteering became my lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. As I threw myself into the varied activities, I met other people who understood the life-shattering differences perpetrated by dementia. I connected with sisters of the heart who became life-long friends.

One time someone suggested that I give up volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association, but I told them that although I couldn’t stop the progression of the disease, I had found a way to make a difference. I became a better caregiver when I focused on promoting awareness, seeking knowledge about dementia, and advocating for effective treatments.

Every person does not have to start at the beginning of the learning curve. Through support group, and from the professionals who worked at the Alzheimer’s Association, I learned about everything from how to avoid financial pitfalls to caregiving tips. 

Physical Benefits:

·       Increases Physical Activity

·       Lowers Blood Pressure

·       Improves Heart Health

·       Decreases Pain Level

Studies show that people who stay actively engaged in life have better physical health. I really think part of it might be that you simply have less time to feel sorry for yourself.

I attended a seminar once where the speaker talked about focus. “If you focus on red cars, you will be surprised at how many red cars you will see.” Focusing on your health means you are more cognizant of your choices.

Have you ever noticed that people who actively volunteer, usually volunteer for more than one organization? It’s because once your focus is on how to make a positive impact, you can plainly see the need.

Often the most traumatic events in our lives motivate us into action. Whether that action is participating in an event, providing financial support, or offering a helping hand—each of us can make a positive impact on our community.

 

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright ©July 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ