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Illustration by Drew Shannon
On April 24, 2022, Mary Hardwick’s First Person article “How can love endure when Alzheimer’s takes him away?” was published in The Globe and Mail. Her loving care for her husband Doug – in his ever-frustrating Alzheimer’s condition – was heroic. But life can unfold in unexpected ways – before the end of that year, Mary died of metastatic breast cancer. As Mary was dying, a group of friends assured her that they would make weekly visits to Doug’s long-term care home – as she had been doing for years.
Doug taps the beat on his mandolin with one finger of his strumming hand. I don’t know if he recognizes the song I’m playing, I don’t know if he likes the song, I don’t know if he recognizes me or likes my being there to interrupt the space that he’s in. I do know that he used to like to sing Waltzing Matilda – so we try that one. Again, he taps the mandolin strings in time with the music. That tapping finger is the only sign that my old friend is in there … somewhere.
I’m here with Doug’s daughter, Liz, and another old friend, Steve, in order to get “the lay of the land” before Liz returns to her home in Wyoming. We passed the COVID vaccination screening, the COVID test, met an occupational therapist, viewed the activities room and now Steve and I are learning how to just “be” with our old friend; a proud aeronautical engineer, pilot, musician, canoeist, activist, loving father and husband.
He stops tapping when the song ends. He mumbles, “that’s anter.”
“Is it?” Liz responds. “Yes, it is,” he nods.
“Well, that’s good then,” she says. He nods and pushes out a barely audible, “yes.”
I’m glad that I signed up on this Helping Hands list to come and visit Doug – just as we had promised Mary. I’m glad because there is a light in there and, perhaps, I can play a small part in fuelling that light from time to time – and particularly with music. I’ve already learned that the words between us don’t matter any more – the back and forth of the nonsensical conversation is what pleases Doug. It will help him to feel, if just for a moment, like he is still able to carry on a verbal exchange – like the ones that he had with Mary a short time ago. We are grieving that we can’t have conversations with Mary now. He doesn’t know he’s lost her.
It’s been just a few weeks since I was standing in Mary’s apartment viewing the “giveaway” knick-knacks on her dining room table at a memorial gathering for her. How perfect that a small hand-painted Dutch tile of a windmill popped out at me as the perfect memento of Mary. It reminds me of singing The Dutchman song to Mary a few months ago – one that she had just recently come across and come to love. A song that was about her. The woman in the song, Margaret, is Mary – taking care of her disoriented husband: “He’s mad as he can be but Margaret only sees that sometimes … his cap and coat are patched with the love that Margaret sewed in … ”
I clutched the tile, took it home and leaned it against a potted plant in front of the sink in the kitchen. There it will sit while I grieve Mary’s passing – a reminder of her and the Dutchman – Doug.
Now Doug is tapping along while Liz, Steve and I sing The Glory of Love: “You’ve got to give a little, take a little and let your poor heart break a little, that’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.”
Bittersweet, for sure.
It’s hard to imagine that Alzheimer’s could have an upside. Perhaps, for Doug, it’s best that he is oblivious – preventing his “poor heart” from breaking. Given the nature of their close and loving relationship – Doug’s heart wouldn’t be broken just “a little” if he fully realized his loss. Though he was at the celebration of life for Mary, no one really knows if Doug took in what the event was all about. Now this group of friends will visit him and we will be the ones who remember things for him. Just like the lyric in The Dutchman song, “Dear Margaret remembers that for me.”
Steve helps Doug to remember stories from their work together as aeronautical engineers. The “Mad Shack” as they called it – where experiments were conducted in an atmosphere of excitement, creativity, humour and camaraderie. Those were the days my friend … then Doug quips:
“The tuzzing is apper”
“Well, is it? Isn’t that interesting!”
“Yes … and … um …” We all lean in to listen.
“Oh that …” Doug searches.
“Well, that’s really something then isn’t it, Dad!”
“Yes, it is,” he replies with a slight nod and a smile.
Steve places a hand on Doug’s shoulder “Yes, it is, Doug. Yes, it is.”
After another story from Steve, Liz suggests that we get active.
A game of balloon badminton. We tap the balloon around Doug and he raises his hand to bounce it back with surprising agility. Liz recalls that same look of determination when he competed in tennis matches many years ago.
Then another song: Let Me Call You Sweetheart.
I don’t know if he knows me, his daughter has to remind him of who she is and we don’t know if he knows that he has lost his beloved wife Mary. We can believe though, that there must be a vague image of her that lights up in his foggy mind when he hears the line, “Keep your lovelight glowing in your heart so true, let me call you sweetheart I’m in love with you.”
His finger taps out the beat again on the strings of his mandolin. We sway, sing some harmony and that finger assures us that he feels the beat of the music; but now I know that the beat of the music isn’t all that he’s feeling: “The tuzzer is amper … that’s anter.”
That I know for sure, because Doug told me.
Tom Plant lives in Manotick, Ont.