The Call I Never Made

Have you ever had someone on your mind and think, I’ll call tomorrow, or next week? Then, you don’t get around to making that call—you just put it off one more day, and then another.

A few weeks ago, my caller ID was so full that I decided to delete some of the calls. As I was clicking delete, I saw a call from my friend Ted from more than a year ago. That reminded me that I should give him a call and see how things were going—see how his beloved wife Norma was doing. Ted was a devoted caregiver for Norma, who had been in a nursing home for many years.

“You ever see that movie The Notebook?” Ted asked me a few years back. He had invited me to Cracker Barrel, and he was digging in to chicken and dumplings.

“Yes, I saw it,” I said. “It was a beautiful story, but it made me cry.” Most stories about Alzheimer’s do make me cry, even if they are fiction.

“Me too,” he admitted. “What did you think of the ending?”

“It was a sad ending, but it brought the story full circle.” I wasn’t sure where Ted was going with this. I thought the ending was a bit of a stretch as far as believability. The odds are against an old couple dying at the same time.

“That’s how I want it to be for Norma and me. I know it won’t happen, but I wish we could just go at the same time.” Ted took a drink and I could see the wistful look on his face.

“You have to go on living, Ted. You can’t just die to make the ending come out to suit yourself.”

“I know that,” he said. He smiled and his eyes glistened with mischief, and he launched into a funny story.

Ted and I met at a Memory Walk awards luncheon about twelve years ago. I don’t think the Alzheimer’s Association really knew what to think about us. We tormented each other about how much money we could raise and whether Ted in Jefferson City or me in Sedalia could have the most successful walk. Outwardly, we were rivals, but it wasn’t long before we discovered that our friendship was much more important than the competition. That was saying something for two people as competitive as we were.

We ran into each other from time to time—I attended his chicken dinners and Ted drove to Sedalia to come to our Night to Remember dances. We not only spent money at the other’s auction, we would bring items to be auctioned off.

Occasionally, we would “meet in the middle” for breakfast. It was at one of our breakfasts that Ted told me his story for Alzheimer’s Anthology of Unconditional Love. I took notes, typed the story, and dropped it into the mail to him. He called me as soon as he received the story. “Linda Fisher,” he said, “I can’t stop crying long enough to read this story.”

We talked often on the phone, but days turned into weeks, weeks into months, until a year passed. I really felt a strong urge to talk to Ted. I had his home number and cell number programmed into my phone. But it seemed that I was always going to finish a report, answer an email, or edit just one more story first. Another week passed without making the call.

Then, on Tuesday as I finished a few things at work before my trip to Maine, I picked up the phone in response to hearing my name paged.

It was Joetta from the Alzheimer’s Association. “Linda, I wanted to let you know that Ted Distler passed away.” I was just stunned. “He was a recluse for about the last year. He never left his home and never let anyone in to see him.” She went on to tell me about the changes in Ted, a friend who somehow sank into depression, and I never did anything to help. I felt like I had let him down at the time he needed me the most.

Then, I was filled with regret that I had never made that phone call—hadn’t reached out to my friend. Now he was gone, and I could never make it right. There would be no more moments to laugh and joke with Ted.

“Is Norma still living?” I asked Joetta.

“Yes, but she is fading fast and they don’t expect her to last long.”

I thought about chicken and dumplings at Cracker Barrel, a football game, breakfast, auctions, dances, chicken dinners, sitting on a park bench while I interviewed him for a research paper, a hug and kiss on the cheek—my friend, Ted. So many images and good memories of a dear friend. Lastly, I thought of The Notebook and wondered if maybe Ted didn’t get his happy ending after all.

Copyright © L. S. Fisher, June 2011
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com/

Pants on the Ground

I missed the original American Idol show where General Larry Platt performed his show-stopping “Pants on the Ground.” Our pastor played the video at the beginning of his message the following Sunday and ended with a stirring rendition of his version—“Made from the Ground.”

After a few Google searches, it became obvious to me that the General had become an overnight global sensation. What was Larry Platt doing the other 62 years of his life? He isn’t called General because he was in the military—he was a general in the war against injustice. He was a civil rights activist who was beaten on the Bloody Monday March. He was recognized September 4, 2001, for his heroic efforts during the civil rights movement. In other words, he was an unsung hero for the things he believed in his heart to be important.

We all know these unsung heroes. They are the people who not only support the cause they believe in, they throw heart and soul in the effort. They brush obstacles aside with super-human strength.

I have been fortunate to know many of the unsung heroes in the battle against Alzheimer’s. I’ve know people with the disease who looked beyond their own tragedy and found a mission. Tracy Mobley, diagnosed at 38, worked tirelessly on Camp Building Bridges for children whose parents have Alzheimer’s or a related dementia. Tracy pieced together a Memory Quilt in honor of people with the disease. She’s an advocate and volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association.

Caregivers are heroes too. Karen Henley’s life is focused around caring for her husband, Mike. She doesn’t seek recognition for her labor of love. Caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s is one of the most challenging jobs a person can undertake. Caregivers know the meaning of unconditional love.

Alzheimer’s staff and volunteers are the rank and file soldiers. Alzheimer’s staff shares their expertise with the volunteers to increase the size of the army.

Penny Braun began her work with the Alzheimer’s Association as a volunteer. She went on to become the first executive director of the Mid-Missouri Chapter. She turned a one-person office into a fully staffed dynamic entity serving 29 Missouri counties. Penny is a hero in the war against Alzheimer’s.

Volunteers make up the largest force in any organization. When it comes to Alzheimer’s volunteers, I think of Ted Distler’s smiling face. For many years, Ted has motivated, prodded, and led hundreds of people into being involved in Memory Walk. Ted works tirelessly to support other caregivers and to share his experiences and knowledge with his community.

If good works ever went viral like the catchy tune and words of “Pants on the Ground” these special people and millions of other motivated volunteers would become household names.

The General himself said that he hoped “Pants on the Ground” didn’t overshadow his civil rights work. That makes the General a pretty smart man as far as I’m concerned. Instant fame didn’t make him forget that life isn’t just one shining moment, it involves years of plugging away at the causes you believe in.

I hope General Larry Platt’s inspiration to the world isn’t just the tune, but the man singing it. Otherwise, the pants on the ground merely drag out our tracks and erase the footprints of our legacy.

Ted and Norma: Promises to Keep

On October 3, Ted Distler and his lovely wife, Norma, will celebrate 50 years of marriage. I admire Ted for his devotion to Norma and how he has held her hand and guided her through the quagmire of early-onset Alzheimer’s.

Besides being a devoted husband, Ted honors Norma by being a tireless volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association Mid-Missouri Chapter. We met in 1999 when Ted was at the helm of the Jefferson City Memory Walk and I coordinated the Sedalia Memory Walk. Ted was a formidable fundraiser, and I made a valiant effort to stay in the competition. Although we squared off like championship boxers, we were cheerleaders for each other as we joined forces for a common cause. Our ultimate goal was to help support families facing Alzheimer’s and a cure for their loved ones, and our loved ones. We knew our local Chapter was providing that support for Mid-Missouri families.

Ted and I met for coffee one day and worked on a story for Alzheimer’s Anthology of Unconditional Love. Norma and Ted’s story of unconditional love, courage, and devotion is posted on the Mid-Missouri Chapter’s website at http://www.alz.org/mid-missouri/in_my_community_17573.asp.

Congratulations, Ted and Norma! I wish you blessings and love with each step of your journey.

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"Promises to Keep" published in Alzheimer's Anthology of Unconditional Love