By 
It is never easy to let go of our loved ones, even when they have been struggling for years with a debilitating condition; even if we say it was a “blessing”, it is never easy to say goodbye.
Marilyn, my mother-in-law, was only seventy-five years old, but she had had Alzheimer’s for almost three years and it was progressing very rapidly. I’ve been told that one in 10 people age 65 and older has Alzheimer’s dementia. That’s 10% of the population over the age of 65.
My husband, Peter, visited his mother in the nursing home every Sunday and often came home with some funny stories to share. We both knew they weren’t really funny… but sometimes we just couldn’t help but laugh.
Sometimes his mother recognized him and other times she just talked nonsense, but she was always nice to him. However, there were stories about her not being so nice to the nurses, so when Peter asked me to go with him, she was scared sometimes. I was afraid that she would yell at me and say something hurtful, but I knew it was time for me to visit her, so one day we took a walk to the nursing home. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, and to say that she was surprised would be an understatement. She was half the size she was the last time he had seen her, and she could no longer walk. The impact knocked the wind out of me and I had to walk out of the room to regain my composure. When I walked back into the room, I walked past Marilyn’s roommate, Phyllis. “You’re a pretty girl,” she said with a smile, and then went back to worrying about the clothes on her bed. I later learned that that was what she “did.”
Peter took his mother’s hand and spoke softly to her, and she looked at him and called him “daddy.” It wasn’t until the nurse entered the room that she saw me. She looked at me and then whispered to Peter, “How old is she?”
“Oh, she doesn’t like me telling her age, Mom. Let’s just say she’s a little older than me!” Peter said.
She seemed oddly suspicious of me, which was exactly what I was afraid of, but then she seemed to walk away. Because of Alzheimer’s, I didn’t know her well, but I knew that she was a strong and resilient woman who had raised three wonderful children with kind and generous hearts, and that said a lot about the person I never really got to know.
Unfortunately, that was the last time I saw her awake and talking.
When we left the nursing home, we saw a man standing at the reception. “I’m an American citizen. I’m a free man. All I want to do is get some air,” he said. He wanted to take his arm and lead him outside, but instead we punched in the door code to get out.
“Never put me in one of these places,” I told my husband. “I know you are here for your own good, but the thought of losing my freedom is too much.”
I got the call on Friday afternoon. “Mom’s not okay,” Peter said. Just last week we were told he wouldn’t make it through the weekend so we canceled our plans but then it got better. My gut told me this wasn’t the case now, so I headed straight to the nursing home. Peter’s sister saw the tears in my eyes when I looked at her mother and she came over to hug me. Her husband and Peter’s brother sat sadly next to her, and her aunt and cousin sat to one side. When the nurse told us that Marilyn’s temperature had risen to 107 degrees, we all knew that was it, but Marilyn held on as we sat by her bed. “She’s always been a tough cookie, hasn’t she, Mom?” Peter’s sister said, tears in her eyes as she gently patted her mother’s hand.
Just then, Phyllis, the roommate, came into the room and started rummaging through her closet. She could hear her name each thing. “That’s mine, that’s not mine… Oh, I don’t like it when they take my stuff,” she muttered.
“She’s always accusing us of stealing one of her slippers,” Peter’s brother whispered. “I still think she should take it and give her something real to complain about,” he laughed. Phyllis’s after-dinner ritual was to come into the room and rummage through her closet.
It’s an enigma, Alzheimer’s is. Sometimes you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. We know their victims are suffering a terrible fate, but it’s hard not to laugh at the things they say or do.
Peter’s sister encouraged us to take a break for dinner. “This could go on all night. You should go get something to eat,” she said. We offered to bring food and asked his brother to come with us, but he refused. We went out together with Peter’s aunt.
“Sometimes they wait until everyone is gone before letting go,” he said. “So maybe it’s better if there are fewer people in the room.”
We drove to a nearby Italian restaurant and ordered something to eat at the bar. Just as we were finishing, Peter received a text message saying that Marilyn had died. We quickly received the check and ran back to the nursing home.
There was a strange sense of relief in the room. We all hugged and cried for Marilyn as we waited for the funeral director to arrive. I knew that she had bonded me with Peter’s sister that night, but I felt guilty for dragging Peter out of his mother’s deathbed. I knew he never would have left for dinner if I hadn’t been there, but I took some comfort in the thought that maybe she waited until he left to let him go.
Later, I convinced Peter to write something about his mother to read at his service. He was worried he wouldn’t make it without breaking down, but he wrote it anyway. And so it was, after days of preparation and hours of calling, we stood under the canopy of our grievance to say goodbye to Marilyn. We stood around as Peter bravely told some light-hearted stories about his mother, bringing wistful smiles to everyone’s faces. He did well to the end and only broke down on his final statement.
At the end of the service, Peter’s oldest son, who was very close to his grandmother, sang “I Will Follow You Into the Dark.”
My love, one day you will die
But I will be very close and I will follow you in the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to doors of white
Just our hands clasped so tightly, waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide they’re both satisfied
And illuminate the no’s on their vacancy signs
If there’s no one by your side when your soul begins
Then I’ll follow you into the dark… The time to sleep is now
But it’s nothing to cry about
‘Cause soon we’ll be holding each other in the darkest room
Not a dry eye was visible.
I like to think that Marilyn is dancing in the sky now and is no longer in pain or confused. Somehow, convincing ourselves of such things helps ease the pain of losing a loved one.