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Posts Tagged ‘feast’

Turkey

Sometimes the familiar will help Alzheimer's victims glimpse normal

Living with Alzheimer’s there are seldom days, or even periods of time, when life is “normal” – or I should say the way it was – or seeming to be the way it was.  Nevertheless I strive for “normal” as a goal – possibly that we could live our lives in the same manner as we were before AD even if for only a moment.  Certainty the day-to-day care and the fluctuations which occur to the mind and body of anyone with a severe terminal disease are to be expected. Yet a portion of a day can still appear almost like old times.  I suppose it all depends on many factors: influences from within the AD victim and outer influences, noise or silence, visitors or none, cooking aromas, weather, music, sports on TV, the voices of children – any of these may or may not set the stage for mood swings.  Optimistic that Ken would be in a good mood, I set his usual place at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

It’s always a gamble to eat with Ken.  At times he’s been known to reach over to my plate and help himself to something that appeals to him.  Something like those long-ago times when our toddlers were tied with a dish towel into a chair stacked with books when no highchair was available. It was comical to see the adults pulling food and plates out of reach as the small hand stretched at arm’s length to acquire what might satisfy his curiosity as well as his tummy.  So I wondered how Ken would react to a table filled with other people and food in abundance.

I have mentioned before how social Ken had always been, and he responded well yesterday as company arrived.  He seemed more aware, warning the children not to go out a certain door leading to the backyard (which was pretty much ignored) and shaking hands with the adults when a hand was offered.  He even managed a smile or two.  The real test, though, would be dinner, and I did have a back-up plan.  Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use it.

As all of the prepared food and turkey culminated into a feast, Crizaldo and our son Keith guided Ken into the dining room where his chair faced away from the table into the living room where everyone had gathered.  “When dinner is served and his food is in front of him, you two can pick up the chair and turn it around.  That way he won’t be distracted by an empty plate.”

Ken was happy to be part of the group as Keith welcome everyone asking Bob to say a prayer of thanksgiving and a blessing on the food.  As the room became silent I counted my own blessings: years of good living with this man I had married and his prudent financial preparation for our retirement and the possibility of needed care beyond what either of us might be able to do for the other, and for the caring men who provide that additional need.  I am grateful for not only the surrounding family, but for those of our family who had other obligations and those scattered throughout the country; grateful for Liz who, after nearly two years of world travel, had her two feet gripping the ground of New York City and was on her way home.  We are truly blessed.

Following the final “Amen,” Keith and Criz picked up Ken in his chair and planted it directly in front of a plate filled with food.  Without as much as a skip of a heartbeat he picked up his fork and began to eat.  Not the way he often does, barely chewing before another fork full goes into his mouth, but casually, chatting the way he always did before.  I suppose it might be said that old things bring back old ways, and gathered around the dinner table could have triggered a memory from the past. Tuning in every so often it was nice to hear he was engaging as best he could in somewhat of a conversation, and I was pleased.  Nearby the children ate at a smaller table where they were more interested in getting finished and back to playing than they were in Thanksgiving’s bounty.

Another year has passed since we all gathered to celebrate our blessings and offer our thanks to the Almighty.  So as evening approaches I sit quietly and glance around the table at my ever-growing family.  I see Ken at one end of the table and me at the other: matriarch and patriarch of this wonderful group of people, and it all appears incredibly normal — almost like a Norman Rockwell painting.  Today, I am grateful beyond expression and content in these happy, captured moments.

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