Bob with his sister, Kathleen
I don’t visit Bob at the Veterans Home because he recognizes me and is happy to see me. I have no idea if he recognizes me. He hasn’t said my name for at least two years and hasn’t known we are married for five. He can’t carry on any sort of conversation, so I don’t visit for stimulating verbal communication.
Sometimes he gives me a little smile when i greet him face to face. Other times he doesn’t seem to care that I’m there. When I say, “I love you, Bob,” often he doesn’t react at all. Occasionally he answers, “Good.” A couple of weeks ago he answered, “I know.” A month ago he surprised me by haltingly saying, “I love you, too.” Adding the “too” seemed quite significant for his failing brain. In the past two weeks when I’ve told him I love him, he has repeated it back only once in slurred, almost unrecognizable speech.
I don’t stay away from visiting Bob because he doesn’t remember who I am and the significant and wonderful role he has had in my life. The reason I visit Bob often - every day or every other day - is because he is still a part of me. We’ve been married for almost 53 years. I love when we hug in the elevator and he tries to lift me off my feet. I love bringing him home at least once a week. We sit close on the couch, hold hands and I watch a movie. He hasn’t looked at our large TV screen for years. He also doesn’t seem to listen to the movie either. He doesn’t react at all to what is happening on the screen. But we are together, alone, holding hands, connecting, and he seems content.
Another important reason I visit Bob at the VA often is because I want him to feel nurtured and loved, if only for just a few minutes. The nurses and CNAs at the Veterans Home are wonderful. But they don’t have time to give individual “nurturing” attention to each of the 22 men living in the Memory Care Unit. That is why I think it is important for family and loved ones to visit Alzheimer’s patients at care centers, even if they don’t remember who they are.
Bob can’t express to me in words what makes him feel loved and nurtured. But, hopefully I have figured out his needs correctly. I know he loves holding hands when we walk down the hall or sit on a sofa. He also responds positively to hugs as well as back, arm and neck rubs. When I tuck him in at night, after helping the CNAs ready him for bed, I gently rub his face. Then I gently kiss across his forehead, both cheeks and chin. He is completely freaked out if I kiss him on the lips, so I don’t do that. Before I leave, I pray with him. I love how peaceful he looks when I leave.
Bob isn’t going to remember one minute afterwards that I rubbed his back, rubbed his face, gave him hugs and kisses and held his hand. But for a few minutes, in the moment, I want him to feel cherished
It is important to figure out how to nurture a loved one. A spouse of one of the men living at the VA with Bob told me her husband doesn’t want her to touch him. It isn’t that he didn’t or doesn’t love her. It’s just that some Alzheimer’s patients don’t want to be touched. So, she talks to him a lot, and he seems to like that.
I am grateful that members of our family visit Bob in person or by phone to give him an abundance of love. Our two daughters and Bob’s two sisters, who live close by, visit him with their families. They hold his hand, talk to him about old times, read him stories, and play their musical instruments for him. His twin brother calls him once a week from Washington, so he is blessed by the sound of his voice.. Whenever our out-of-town children come into town, they spend as much time as they can showing their affection for him.
I love that they have a Namaste Room at the VA. At least once a week, Bob takes his turn for Namaste, which means in Hindu, "I bow to the divine in you.” Brook takes Bob into the cozily decorated Namaste room. With her beautiful lilting voice, she coaxes him to sit down in a cushy recliner. She turns on music. She places a lollipop in his mouth. We softly rub his hands with luscious smelling lavender lotion. She tells me sometimes he falls asleep and she lets him stay until he wakes up. When I am fortunate to be there for the Namaste, we leave 45 minutes later with John Denver’s song, You Fill Up My Senses, swirling in my head. Every single one of his senses is gently nourished there.
When I am with Bob, we don’t live in the past. We don’t plan or speak of the future. We live for the moment, and the moment can be very very sweet.
