And Then There's This... Norma: 'How Long Will It Be Dark?'
This is the April 24, 2020, excerpt from “Stardust: An Alzheimer's Love Story,” my day to day accounts of caring for my wife Norma in the advanced stages of her dementia.
I haven't written lately about caring for Norma because I've been too exhausted. Both physically and psychologically, she's requiring almost minute-by-minute attention during her waking hours. Then there are her calls for me once or twice a night. Being quarantined [by COVID] has worsened the situation since our children can't risk being around her and thus providing me the breaks I relied on in sunnier times.
The other night when I put her to bed, she looked up and asked, “How long will it be dark?” I chose to believe she meant how long would it be until daylight and answered, “Oh, about five hours.” That seemed to satisfy her, but the sadder implication of her question still gnaws at me.
OK, that's the end of my bitching for the moment. I prefer to write about our pleasant times — of which there are still plenty.
So how about that re-run of 'The Lawrence Welk Show” we watched last Saturday night? It was a tribute to Johnny Mercer, whose songs have enlivened us since we were Embryos of the Year, From the “Moon River” opening to the sign-off with “And the Angels Sing,” Norma was thoroughly absorbed. With “Goody Goody,” I saw her knees under the blanket on our laps pumping up and down like pistons. It was the closest thing to exercise she'd done all week. “Charade” was performed with a dance team, and when it ended Norma broke into applause, just as though it was a live performance. It was like she had retreated into an earlier age — and it brought me close to tears to see this much life still bubbling inside her.
On went the show through “Tangerine,” “Something's Gotta Give,” “Laura” and “I'm An Old Cowhand,” each one commanding her total attention. At the end, as the trumpets, saxes and trombones blared, she turned to me — as if suddenly remembering I was there — and said, “This is the best I've heard for a long time,” leaving me to wonder how she measures time now.
A couple of nights back, she called out for me. “Ed, I just wanted to know where you were.” I went in and stood by her bed, holding her hand. She said she felt awful. I asked her if she had a headache or stomach ache? “No,” she said. She just felt sad. I walked around the bed and lay down beside her. As we cuddled and talked for a while, she said she was feeling OK. “That's because Doctor Ed is in yo' bed.” I told her. She chuckled at that — a couple of times — and then slept in apparent serenity until morning.
