The Worst

There are many ways to die; some fast and some slow. I doubt anyone actually looks forward to the process of dying, but historically it has been a pretty universal end to our lives on this Earth. There are probably pros and cons to both the fast and slow options; like whether there's time to say our goodbyes or grant us relief from the seeming marathon of suffering; both by the one who is dying and the loved ones who suffer alongside.

I know this post seems quite macabre and, perhaps, out of place, and for that I'm sorry. I won't be offended if you just choose to stop reading now. Lately, though, I have been feeling a burden for those who die what seems to me to be the worst death; the one that kills the mind while the body still lives.

While certain diseases; like Cancer or COPD, slowly attack the body, perhaps the worst is that which kills the mind while leaving the body relatively intact.

We are all, ultimately, shaped by all of the events in our lives from birth through death. The thread that runs through our lives shapes our attitudes; our memories of the past forming the foundation of our present.

Somewhere along the line, though, in those people afflicted by diseases like Alzheimer's, the carefully intertwined fibers that make up that thread slowly fray and fracture; leaving gaping holes in the story of their life.

For most of us, much of our conversation ties back to, "Remember when..." Gatherings of old friends are filled with laughter, and sometimes tears, as stories are told and retold; as lives are relived. That joy is gone for those whose memories are broken and lost.

I remember Nana being near tears when she told me of her dear friend from childhood who, stricken with Alzheimer's would forget their visit only a day later.

I remember the blank, lost stare of Diane's Grandma when we visited her in the nursing home even though she no longer knew who Diane was. I remember her eyes lighting up for the briefest of moments when Diane showed her her engagement ring; only to return to the blank stare, likely wondering who we were as we stood before her.

I'm sure, for a while, those suffering from the disease feel the agony of the gnawing sense of some neuron somewhere in the brain firing to tell the them that they should know the person who stands before them, yet the thought never really forming; the memories used to build the recognition of a loved one wiped clean by the ravages of the disease. Eventually, the remaining frayed and broken thread of their memories becomes so unraveled that all memories are stolen from them.

The pain of the disease then rests solely on the loved ones left behind.

It has been almost ten years since President Reagan died; finally succumbing to the ravages of Alzheimer's Disease. Mrs. Reagan remained staunchly by his side as his companion, caregiver and protector until the very end. No matter what you thought of his politics, you couldn't help but choke back tears as the cameras captured the last moments Mrs. Reagan had at his casket; bathing it in tears as she said her final goodbye with the words, "I love you, Ronnie." Her love still strong; even after several years of him not knowing who she was.

For those; death must come as a welcome respite amidst the sorrow.

I'm not really sure why this has become important to me lately. I haven't been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, nor has anyone I know.

Perhaps it is because writing this blog has brought me so much joy as I reflect on the people, places and things that have woven together to form the thread that courses through my life. It is built on my memories.

Perhaps it is because my memories are a constant companion; they remain - as fibers woven into the thread - inextricably intertwined in my life.

Perhaps it is because that thread, at times, is what I cling to; the only connection I have left to people I love and I am afraid to let it go.