Happy Trails

Happy Trails to you,
Until we meet again.
Happy Trails to you,
Keep smiling until then.

Dale Evans, 1952

The lyrics above were sung at the conclusion of every episode of the Roy Rogers show back in the 50’s. Roy Rogers and his wife, Dale Evans, would ride their horses Trigger and Buttermilk into the sunset while the show credits rolled. That song from my childhood resonates with me as I reflect on my life with Dawn.

We met over 25 years ago at a weekend conference for Catholics who were divorced, widowed or were widowers. Two and a half years later we were married.

As a second marriage for both of us, we were vigilant to avoid behaviors and mistakes that had caused stress in our previous relationships. Our children (all six of them) were all grown so we avoided the issues of trying to blend families. We were not rich but were blessed with a certain amount of financial security and a willingness to live within our means that helped prevent stress inducing money problems.

As the years rolled by, our love truly did develop into a richer relationship: better, I think, than either of us could have imagined. Things came up as they always do: relationship issues, family issues, friend conflicts, health problems, and job and career disappointments. But we had become even better friends to supplement our love relationship. We talked, we cried, we laughed, and made tough decisions together that enhanced our relationship. We took things as they were and truly tried to do the best we could with what we had.

We are far from perfect or don’t pretend to be role models. We have made a ton of mistakes, caused pain in others and come up short in every measure. But we are just people. We found each other and worked through our mistakes and shortcomings and forgave each other as much as is humanly possible, We hope family and friends can forgive us.

About this time nine years ago, Dawn noticed that she seemed to be forgetting things. It was shortly after her mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s so perhaps she was made more sensitive to the symptoms. A standard screening test followed by a complete neurological workup did show some memory issues but nothing definitive. Memory issues continued and six years ago we received a formal diagnosis of Alzheimer’s.

Everything changed. We knew with a pretty high probability what the future held for us, we just didn’t know how fast it would unfold. But the balance of this story won’t take you down the “caregiver” path with a series of “here’s what happened” recollections. If you are truly interested in the progression of Alzheimer’s, I suggest you pick up a copy of “The 36 Hour Day” by Nancy Mace and Peter Rabins. First published in 1981, it’s in its sixth edition and is still the go to compendium for effected family members and caregivers.

Shortly after the formal diagnosis, I went to a session for spouses and caregivers of those newly diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The facilitator pulled no punches and all the health, behavior and emotional issues associated with the disease for both the patient and caregiver were presented very starkly. She was equally blunt about the possible financial impact. But what affected me most was the assertion that I was basically going to become Dawn’s parent. I almost cried right there. While I listened to the description of the disease progression with almost clinical detachment, that statement caused a knot in my stomach. She was my life partner, not my child.

So, six years later we have experienced most of the seven stages that are often used to describe Alzheimer’s progression. We have exhibited many but not all of the behavioral, emotional, and cognitive issues associated with the disease. It’s not a linear progression and some days are better than others. But, I have resisted becoming Dawn’s parent. She relies on me for almost everything and I do sometimes find myself not being totally honest or withholding information, but I have not become anything close to a parent.

Like almost everything in our lives since we have been married, we’re in this together. Although I have become her caregiver, Dawn is not a child and I do not parent her. I care for her, protect her and comfort her but not in the way I did for my children. I watch over her with an entirely different set of eyes. My care for my children had a huge love component but also an equally large responsibility component. With Dawn, the love is huge but the responsibility aspect has been complimented with a set of characteristics that haven’t always been prevalent or consistent in my life. I have a deeper sense of compassion for her. I have been able to be far more patient with the situations and events that arise than I ever thought I could have as an old man raised as an only child. I find myself being ever alert to foresee and prevent things that might not only be harmful but unnecessarily stressful or anxiety inducing for her. These things are not particularly unique in a spousal caregiver; I’m grateful they finally emerged in me after being well concealed.

So Dawn and I are living every day as best we can and definitely not as parent and child. Life looks a lot like a drawing in one of Dawn’s adult coloring books. We see the picture and know what it’s going to be, but we get to choose the colors and can then decide whether we are happy or displeased with our choices. I am slowly but steadily loosing my wife, my best friend, my supporter, my sometimes conscience, and my life’s traveling partner. It will truly be a sad day for me when I can no longer care for her because her needs exceed my physical or emotional capabilities or my own infirmities prevent it. But we are riding off just like Roy and Dale. The credits (and debits) are rolling on the screen and I know in my heart that we wish each other “Happy Trails until we meet again”.

Postscript: the story is obviously not over and I have plenty of opportunity to screw things up. I pray daily that I continue to receive the grace and tenacity to finish coloring our life picture and know that we can look at it and say we “did the best we could with what we had”.