Finding Light in the Darkness

I lost my wife, Gayla, a year and a half ago, twelve years after the first signs of memory loss. We had been married for fifty-seven years. So much was slowly taken away from us, and the five years following the Alzheimer’s diagnosis became the most difficult experience of my life. But my love sustained me. It was expressed in many ways. Patience, presence, and persistence. Kindness, caring, and concern. Humor, smiles, and relief. Connection. All of these were gifts of love to my very best friend.

Love also gave me something that was personally rewarding and fulfilling. It gave me the confidence of knowing that I would be there for her no matter what happened. That I would be the person I expected myself to be. That I was certain to fulfill the vows that I made to her so many years ago. Love made me whole, and that made the challenges of caregiving more bearable.

Despite the adversity, I have been blessed. There are many people who have not been nearly so fortunate. But we all want to have self-confidence and self-respect. And we all have a reservoir of goodness within us that can make a difference for the people we care about. When we tap into that goodness, compassion and empathy flow out in the form of gratitude, loyalty, and sacrifice. Long after memories fade, emotional connection can survive. Unconditional love is not required to become a conscientious caregiver who makes a meaningful difference in the lives of people we care about.

Whether we are a spouse (even if our relationship has cooled), daughter, son, grandchild, or friend, caregiving is more than an obligation. It’s an opportunity for us to discover who we really are. Regardless of how we come to be caregivers, when we serve someone else, we can comfortably love and respect ourselves.

Love is the light in the darkness of dementia. It cannot stop the disease. It cannot erase exhaustion, grief, loneliness, anger, or fear. But love is the blessing the disease can never take away.