A is for ALZHEIMERS

I watched him, sometimes from afar but often closer than I wanted to be. Many times I saw his struggle to maintain a level of normality, if not within himself, at least to the outside world. I felt his frustration as something beyond his control slowly began to strip away his confidence and compromise his dignity. Until his world became a hidden place behind a closed door, an impenetrable wall, a world which nobody else was able to share, a secret room where he sat alone with his thoughts. Occasionally, among friends or family, he would peer from a slightly opened door and we would catch a glimpse of the person we had once known but just as the hope of a reacquaintance became a possibility, he would retire back to the security of his own mind and our role would again be reduced to that of onlookers at a film premiere, waiting to see a familiar face emerge from the crowd. Yet how we loved those precious moments and how, as time passed, we came to cherish them more and more as the door was opened less and less. And while, in those final weeks, days and hours, it is possible to find some comfort and relief in the knowledge that the struggle is almost over, it is always slightly coloured with unnecessary guilt that we could have done more and a degree of frustration about the trauma that life threw in our path. And with what are we left? Memories of the early days when a misused word or a forgotten name were more likely to raise a giggle than a concern. When a change of mood could be accounted for by children leaving the family nest or the inactivity of retirement. When the topic of conversation became monotonously similar and when the usual hearty welcome became little more than a nod of acknowledgement. When the talking died, the eyes became distant and loneliness existed even in a crowded room. Yet, in truth, I really never knew how he felt inside for by the time I wanted to ask him, he could no longer tell me. I guess, maybe, amidst all his frustration, there were great moments of happiness that remained locked away. Of precious daughters, respected sons-in-law, adored grandchildren, a loved lifelong partner and all the memories of better days.

But I also learned that no family has a monopoly on suffering and the pain, shock and sadness of loss soon arrives at another door to be greeted with the same sense of bewilderment. Yet Jesus never said that life would be free from trouble though he did promise to be there when it happened when he said, 'Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.' And Paul, writing to the Christians at Corinth, praises the God 'who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.'

As I take a backwards glance at what is now history, my God is not one who always heals, who always answers what I pray for , who always shields me from trouble or who always prevents the bad days. But he is always there. Remember that.