The Heartbreak of ALZ

As I listened almost everyday this week to the now patient, now irritated, now angry voice of the wife of this gent who has lost his past, it came to me again that memories are too precious to leave unwritten.
Like a little boy lost, one day he will question how, when, and where they met, then suddenly gets a flash of memory that puts everything in place for him.
As she has done countless times in this past twelve years for him, she goes over every detail of many events in their sixty-five years of marriage.
Often he will recall a name of a brother or neighbor and some event he does remember, then wants to discuss it in detail with her as though she was not there herself.
Most days when not staring vacantly out the patio door while in his swivel recliner, he asks me, as I go about the kitchen work, if I were "raised in these parts, ever picked cotton, lived on a farm, or raised a garden. Plus he is sure glad I am "fixn' vittles".
Then he will ramble off on his childhood of farm chores and life in general as he knew it in the early part of the last century. Being ninety-one years old put him growing up square in the middle of the horse & buggy days. He speaks often of the farm labor and how grueling it was to do vital-to-life farm chores before going off to the distant school. The oft quoted old saw about "walking five miles in the snow to school" was reality to him.
He goes through the family history and intersperses that with comments on the sorry state of
"today's youth".
Madame, as he calls his wife, is visibly worn from this constant grating against her sanity. Being nearly eight-four and in failing health, she loses it with him once and a while and has to retreat to her bedroom to lay down and rest not only the body but her mind and voice as well.
I can take up some of the slack for her but of course she must, as all Alzheimer's spouses, bear the main brunt of the agony of watching the fading of his memory.
The worst part is when he doesn't remember that she is his wife, which for this particular patient has not occurred but twice in the last twelve years since he was diagnosed.
There are many flashes of recognition on his face when he chuckles at something, makes a face behind her back when she is in a full nagging storm or frowns at a negative statement that lets me know that he still "gets it".
Sensibly, both no longer drive though Madame remarks once and a while that they might just go up to KYC for lunch on a Sunday when they are alone, but hasn't done that yet.
Understandably, the grown children of this couple worry about them continuing to live in their own home but realize that they are still capable of this for now as long as they have help.
Since this fellow lost his right leg below the knee when he was with Patton's fifth armored division in Germany, the Va sends a lady to help with him every day for two hours in the afternoon. She gets their supper and tends to his needs such as toenail trimming (only five in his case) and personal needs with the prosthetic leg which occasionally needs a bolt tightened on the ankle, plus other chores as well as doing some exercise therapy with Madame.
We went to eat fish one day last week and he was puzzled by the amber colored iced tea glasses that were put on the table saying somewhat peevishly that the tea was too "strong". Madame gave up trying to explain that and then he felt slighted that there wasn't enough ice in the glasses which of course we remedied at once.
Then when the fish dinner came I watched as he repeatedly salted the whole plate starting with the french fries. I tried to hide the salt but anger flashed across his face when he couldn't find it and of course then he complained about the lousy taste.
His daughter related that they had tried in the past to take them out to dinner but he would order coffee and get mad unless it was boiling hot, then forget about it after putting in cream and sugar and get agitated when he discovered it had cooled off and would make a scene with the waitress about that as well as other things he didn't understand and refused to eat such as the barbeque topping on the meatloaf which he vowed was "burnt" because it was dark looking.
So now they have hired a cook.
Me.
The lady who has been driving a truck for the last twenty or so years is now having to learn all over again how to be a housekeeper and think up new and exciting dishes to please the palates of these two sugar hooked individuals. I am stunned that they are not diabetic as much sugar as they consume.
To be continued...