By Linda Lovely
When my friend’s mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s,
she’d been married for more than 50 years. No one could have faulted the
husband for placing his wife in a nursing home once she no longer knew who he
was and needed to be watched and cared for around the clock. But he chose to
care for her at home—for years.
A handyman, he constructed a variety of safeguards to ensure
his wife didn’t harm herself by falling in a bathtub or bolting out the front
door alone and disoriented. He never lost his patience or his love for this
woman, even after she’d disappeared into a shadow land where he was a stranger.
The strength and endurance of this man’s love for his wife
touched my heart.
I don’t mean for this to be a sad post. Love’s ability to
endure despite all types of emotional pressures and physical tests is something
that should make us optimistic and happy. It means we can try to build the kind
of relationships with our spouses, partners, friends that will stand the test
of time—and how time and experiences are bound to change our bodies and our
minds.
I still love and enjoy spending time with friends who are on
opposite sides of political issues. How? The long-time bonds we share are more
important.
Then there’s marriage. My husband doesn’t look like he did
on our wedding day. The thick black hair has vanished, but, fortunately, his
sense of humor hasn’t. Am I the person my husband married? Nope. I doubt he imagined
how I’d look forty-some years hence. Gray hair…wrinkles…love handles (okay, fat
deposits).
Nonetheless he looks past these “minor” defects when he
laughs at my expressions and braves my morning breath to kiss me when he wakes.
But, should I succumb to Alzheimer’s, I hope he’ll put me in
a nursing home. Not because he loves me less, but because I wouldn’t want him
to suffer watching me disappear.
That’s love, too.
