Health & Wellness

Widow Walks 10,000 Miles in Husband's Memory

batch — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 04:05:07 -0500

At age 88, Martha Michel reached a remarkable milestone—and she did it to honor the memory of her late husband, Lester.

On October 24, Martha completed her goal of walking 10,000 miles. It was a project that took her 11 years of daily laps around a lake at the Namaste Alzheimer Center, the Colorado Springs Gazette reports.

A Second Chance

admin — Wed, 01 Nov 2006 10:43:00 -0600

The phone call came one cool winter day. It was the manager of the trailer park where my father lived. "Mrs. Rose, something is seriously wrong with your father," he said. "Would you come down here and check on him?"

It had been a long time since I'd seen my father, and I wasn't in any hurry to change that. I had left home years ago and never looked back. I married a good man and raised a wonderful daughter. I had my own life now—one that I had worked hard to build.

Alzheimer's Memory Walk Participants Share Personal Stories

batch — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 04:05:16 -0500

As many as 5.3 million Americans are living with Alzheimer's disease, according to statistics from the Alzheimer's Association.

But every year, several thousand people across the U.S. band together to raise money to help fight the disease by taking part in Memory Walks, which are organized through the Alzheimer's Association and take place on various dates throughout the year.

The Broken Music Box

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:19:38 -0500

The red digits on the clock glowed: 2 a.m. My husband, Homer, slept soundly beside me, his breathing as peaceful as a child's. And yet at any minute he might wake up, not knowing who I was, wondering why I was in bed with him.

Alzheimer's disease had robbed us of our happy plans for retirement. The sense of security I once felt about life with Homer had been destroyed. He followed me around the house, asking the same questions over and over, a bewildered look in his sunken brown eyes.

"I Know You"

jbloustein — Wed, 06 May 2009 09:33:41 -0500

I nosed my Jeep Cherokee into a parking spot at the care center and took a deep breath. I dreaded going inside. Would Bob be angry today? I didn’t think I could handle it.

I’d put my husband in the Alzheimer’s unit two years earlier, when caring for him became impossible. Now he’d deteriorated to the point where he didn’t know me. I was the woman he’d been married to for over 40 years, yet this cruel disease had rendered me a stranger. It was as if Bob were going through some sort of living death, leaving me isolated.

Still a Team

admin — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:05:43 -0500

Driving to the Brightmoor nursing home that night for dinner with my wife, Estelle, I found myself remembering all the miles we'd logged together on our traveling seminars for the United Methodist Church.

It was Estelle who'd come up with the idea to start Discover God's Call. Like everything else we did, the seminars were a full-fledged collaboration. At the podium we shared speaking time, and on the road between churches we shared the driving.

The Great Tulip Project

admin — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 19:07:09 -0600

It was a beautiful spring morning as I pulled into the driveway of my parents' house, the redbud trees in full bloom. I hesitated in the car, not really wanting to get out. I dreaded what I would face inside. Mom had called me earlier that morning, asking for help. Dad was upset and confused again and she didn't know what to do.

Mom's Doll

admin — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 13:42:57 -0600

I hesitated outside my mother's room in the nursing wing of the retirement home where she lived. As always, before I could push through the door I had to push through my feelings. I had to steel myself for the look on Mom's face: that vacant, searching look she had. Each time I visited, she seemed to slip a bit farther away.

The ravages of age had taken away almost everything from her. She could no longer walk. Her memory for past events and relationships—even family—had eroded. She lived in a world confined to the moment.

A Place Called Home

admin — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:53:26 -0600

"When can I go home? Soon?" Dad asked as I was putting on my coat, his voice plaintive.

Sitting there in his wheelchair, my 87-year-old father looked as bereft as a little boy who had just dropped his ice cream cone on the sidewalk. I couldn't bring myself to say no outright. "We'll see," I said. I brushed his wispy gray hair off his forehead and gave him a kiss. "Bye, Dad. I'll be back tomorrow."

Singing Again

admin — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 08:59:03 -0500

Dad's long, sad decline was inexorable; I knew that. The specialists had explained it all to me when he began to show the symptoms of Alzheimer's in 1992: His dementia was progressive and would inevitably worsen. Little by little, the terrible disease stole away the father I knew. He'd been fluent in three languages but couldn't find the words to carry on a simple, everyday conversation in one. His even temper disintegrated into mood swings and erratic behavior.