Jadene Sloan Ransdell
Originally published April 29, 2015
About two weeks ago I had an Alzheimer's emotional overload. That Monday, I read on Faceb0ok of a dear, sweet friend who had to place her beloved husband into a nursing home. He has been diagnosed with Lewy Body dementia. This was a brilliant man, one of the pioneers in implant dentistry in this country. He is the love of my friend's life, and she is his. Every picture of them exudes the love between them. Both are Christians who not only speak their faith, but model it in their every action. And now, he no longer recognizes his family and is in need of total care. When I read of my friend's experience, my heart broke for her and her husband. Half-way through the post, I was crying so hard I could barely see the words.
That evening I was worn out and decided to go to bed a little early. I use the quiet noise of the television to lull me to sleep so I searched for something to watch and listen to. I settled on what appeared to be a sweet love story. After it was too late, I realized it was the movie, The Notebook. Before I knew it Allie realized the story Duke was reading was about them. She realizes she won't have long to be with him as they dance and declare their love once again. Suddenly, she loses the memory and becomes upset and combative. Shortly after this scene she passes away, no longer remembering the love of her life.
Throughout those final scenes, I started crying and then sobbing. I felt my chest would cave in from the pain in my heart. The day had already been very emotional with the news from my friend and the movie was just too much. I was trying to deal with a realization, a reality, that at some point in the future Matt may not (and probably will not) know who I am. That thought is beyond explainable, is excruciatingly hurtful. And it has become a thought that I cannot shake as I have moved through the week.
I was filled with busy work that week, finishing up sewing for a very special wedding that was in less than 10 days. No matter how much I did, I could not release the sadness I feel over this terrible, awful, no-good disease.
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