Fighting Through the Fog by Cindy Butzke

Arlois, you have Alzheimers. Dr. Vandenberg spoke these devastating words to our mother the summer of 2002. I will never forget the look on her face. She was 80 years old and hadn't been herself for several years. We had moved our parents from the long-time family home in Gresham to York, Ne. the summer before. Life was changing for our parents. The three-story family home my great grandfather built in the tiny village of Gresham, Nebraska was too much for my parents to care for. That was understandable. However, things were different. Mom took no interest in her once-perfect flower gardens. She watched with disinterest as my sister and I fervently worked to restore their usual beauty. Dad would often confide in me, You know, if anything happens to me, your mom couldn't make it. We thought he was just worrying and were actually concerned about his cognitive state.

It became clear one day when my sister got a call from Jennie, a long-time family friend. Jennie tearfully reported that something was wrong with mom. They were driving to Jennie's house when mom became disoriented. She had traveled this country road hundreds of times, but suddenly had no idea where she was. After a cup of coffee at Jennie's, mom arrived home safely. Similar incidences occurred for both our parents over the next five years.

Mom, a once vibrant, confident, sassy woman became withdrawn and complacent. Dad, a retired businessman, who loved to talk baseball, football, and politics with anyone who would listen, became restless and agitated. He seemed to be searching for something to give him peace. Grandchildren watched with sadness as their grandparents, who attended every athletic event, piano recital, and band concert, interacted with a distant air.

After moving out of the family home, there was Assisted Living, and a series of three nursing homes for our once-independent parents. Each move was increasingly difficult as they desperately tried to hold on to normalcy. Every-day tasks became monumental hurdles.

I learned so much from our parents as they fought to maintain a life that was slipping away from them. I learned that enjoying something for the moment is fun, whether it is remembered later or not. I learned that stepping into whatever world someone is in at the time could result in good times. My faith in humanity was re-established by the kindness and compassion of so many people.

From benevolent, courageous adults to malevolent, afraid, children; our parents traveled the scary path of Alzheimer s and dementia. This long journey ended with the loss of our mother in January, 2007. Dad followed four months later. He could not live without his friend, his love, his confidante.

They are together now, strong and happy. It was a long journey; a journey that taught me valuable lessons. It taught me that the things I worry about are insignificant. It taught me that love is what really matters in this life. It taught me that to experience true love, we must be willing to share in a person s deepest pain. When we survive that pain, we learn how connected we all are.

I believe in the power of human kindness. I believe that no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.