(This is a true story, but the names and locations have been changed. Please watch the video by Rascal Flatts; it’s a great song that describes the illness so perfectly…)

It started out like any other visit. I showed up at noon time to make her lunch and help her through her day. She greeted me at the door with a smile, but didn’t seem like her usual self. She complained about the heat and feeling tired and for the first time since I had met her a month ago, she looked her age.

Later in the afternoon, I took her to the grocery store. She can’t drive. She got lost too many times on the roads she once knew by heart so her old Ford 1958 wagon stays parked in the garage. At age 92, Francis is a spitfire; a sweet, fiercely independent women who tells stories about the Great Depression, her only son and her deceased husband who she adores and waits for everyday to come home from work, only to be disappointed by the reminder he died twenty years ago.

We returned from the store where I had teased her about being the mayor of the town, because seven clerks and two shoppers stopped her to give her a hug in the aisles as well as the check- out lane. They were all happy to see her; it had been a while since her last visit to the store. I began helping her out of my jeep. We finally figured out how the petite four foot 10 inch lady could maneuver out of the tall vehicle; by sliding down the seat and holding on to me. As she managed to get her toes to touch down on the pavement of her driveway, she sighed a deep sigh and looked up at me.

“You know, the first 100 years are the hardest.” she told me.  I chuckled to myself and slowly led her into the house. She asked me about six times from the jeep to her front door if I had her keys. Each time I reassured her she had them in her purse. I was sure as I placed them there.

Something was different today.

I just felt like Francis wasn’t her usual self. Later that afternoon, she had asked me if I’d help her use the phone to call her son, who lived on the West Coast. It was hard for her to make a call on her own for she could confuse the number 2 with the number 3 and not remember which number she had already dialed. I dialed the phone, handed her the receiver and began to leave the room to give her privacy, but she held up her hand to stop me and said “Will you sit here and keep me company today when I talk to him?”

“Of course” I answered and then I sat down on her couch. There was something definitely wrong today with Francis. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but something was different.

I sat on the couch and pondered what could be going on inside the mind of this lovely sweet lady.

“Hello, Drew, is that you?”

“Yes I’m okay, well…no I’m not today…well, I don’t know I’m just feeling down in the dumps… I don’t know why….just feeling lonely….I guess…

Yes, she’s here…oh, she’s lovely…what did we do today?…oh…”

Francis cupped the phone with her right hand and whispered to me, “What did we do today?”

“We went to the store, I helped you with the laundry and we just got back from taking a ride to see the ocean.” I reminded her.

Francis nodded and went back to her son on the other end of the receiver.

“Well, we… well….I think…we  had lunch and …and…now I’m trying to think of what to have for supper…well, I don’t know.

I was thinking of visiting my sisters…what? …Where are my sisters?…They are all dead?..Even Becky?…No, I don’t remember that…

Well, how about my parents? Are my mother and father alive?

Thirty years ago? Are you sure? …Oh, I don’t know, it’s getting so confusing …I’m all alone…yes I know I have you…No, this is my home and I’m staying. What would I do in California? …No, I guess I’m stubborn, I like my home…okay, you have to go back and work? Okay, you’ll call me later? Yes, I love you too. Bye.”

I watched Francis slowly hang up the phone and she turned to me. I noticed her eyes were watery and her expression was so sad. I had sat the whole time silently on her couch, feeling guilty of eavesdropping through the entire mother and son conversation.

“You know the first 100 years are the hardest. I’m getting so old, I feel like I’m just waiting around to die.”

“Oh Francis, don’t say that.”

“Well that’s how I feel” and then the petite sweet old woman began to cry. I got up from the couch and put my arm around her, I could feel her body fall into mine, the way my youngest daughter always had her body collapse into mine whenever I tried to console her after a bike spill or a bad day on the school playground.

I led her to the couch and we both sat side by side. My left arm wrapped around her like a cape and her head rested on my shoulder. I instinctually began to rock her then stopped myself realizing how odd it was I was consoling a 92 year old woman and not my seven year old.

“Why did you stop? That felt nice. Can you go back to doing that?” she softly asked me.

“Sure”

And so there we sat, an odd looking pair and I sat silent not sure of what to say.

“Francis, is anything bothering you today? Do you have pain like you did the other day in your legs or is it something else?”

“NO, I don’t know what it is. I’m just feeling in the dumps.. .that’s all. I get like this sometimes when I’m tired.”

“You’re tired today? Maybe you should nap.”

“NO, I don’t nap. I’m just lonely is all. Do you have children?”

“Yes.” I answered her again, the way I did every day when she asked me the same question.

“How many do you have?”

“I have three.”

“Do you have to cook them supper tonight or can you stay with me?”

“I’ll stay. They’re in Canada with their dad for the summer.”

“Your husband lives in Canada?”

“We’re divorced.”

“Oh, that’s too bad….Do you have children?”

“Yes.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three.”

“Do you have to cook them supper or will you eat with me?”

“I’ll stay Francis. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you company.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Well, that’s what friends are for Francis. You’re good to me too.”

“Are you married?”

“No”

“Any suitors?”

“Nope”

“NO? What’s wrong with the men today? You are a beautiful girl. You should have suitors!” She sounded angry and annoyed, lifting her head off my shoulder for the first time to protest.

I laughed at her sweetness and replied, “Well Francis, it’s too bad you’re not a gentlemen or I’d be sweet on you and I’d ask you out for a date.”

She started to laugh, the way I had hoped.

“Can I make you some tea Francis?”

“Okay that will be nice….Do you have to rush home and make your children dinner?”

“No, I’ll stay with you.” And then I hugged her before I got up to get her a cup of tea.

As I stood in her kitchen and put the teapot on the stove I thought about what she had told me.

I had to agree with her; the first 100 years are the hardest.

Alzheimer Disease

If you have a loved one who suffers from Alzheimer Disease, you probably can relate to the conversation I just described. Confusion, forgetfulness and frustration are all part of the mix and if you are the caregiver, you need to have patience and understanding as well as being able to reassure the person 200 times that the house keys are exactly where you told her you put them.

To learn more about this illness, click this link to an article on the disease:

When it’s more than a lost memory…

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