“..it’s only words,
and words are all I have to take your heart away…”
“Words”,
The BeeGees, 1967
“That’s cute!”
Karen’s
comment on seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time
“Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ
Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit.” 1 Thessalonians 5:17-19
“…they fell on
their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen, blessing and
glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might, be to our God
forever and ever, Amen.” Revelation
7:12
It is called paucity
of thought, this loss of the
ability to access and use the words and concepts that had characterized a
personality before the progressive intellectual debilitation of dementia has left its mark. It continues to surprise me regularly what Karen has lost; I was
transferring data from one computer to another recently and came across of file
of graduate theme papers she had submitted during her pursuit of a Masters in
Biblical Counseling, when we first noticed early changes in her memory. Even
two years later she was able to compose a complex, authoritative, semantically
superb, and prescient composition on “Counseling the Caregivers: Assisting the
Family of a Woman with Alzheimer’s” (at that time, she said she was writing it
out of concern for her mother’s illness); now, her vocabulary is roughly at the
level of a third grader. Her comment on seeing the grandeur of the Grand Canyon
(we took our first trip there last weekend) was not unique; the “that’s cute”
comment is what she also said recently about a new fax machine I bought for the
home office, also about a looming thundercloud soon to drench us during our
monsoon season, and even about a bedraggled hissing feral cat that was outside
our condo for a few days (which she also called “a bird” when I asked her
further about it; using the wrong word is also a common symptom in dementia).
“Cute” is her word, her only word, to express whatever level of appreciation of
something she may be feeling.
But it isn’t just not having the right words; there is no sense of depth, no awareness of awe, or
connectedness, or passion. Even if “cute “ might
be an appropriate word for a new fax machine, it falls short in conveying the
breathtaking scope of one’s first encounter with the Canyon. There is now only
a shallow repetition of a word here and there, mere tokens of appreciation of beauty and
worth that makes sharing these special encounters with others so difficult. We
can’t talk with each other about how these things make us feel. When responses
are repetitious and woefully inadequate, it can sap the life from relational
communication. It is an empty experience.
“So”, says God, “how’s this working out for you?” “Not so hot”, I reply in one of those
where-did-that-thought-come-from moments when you know something is happening
that you need to be paying attention to. “Seems like I haven’t heard much from
you recently”, He says; “Sort of the same old short prayers, a lot of
repetition, not much depth to our communication these days, eh?” “Well”, says
I, “I have been pretty busy what with trying to keep up with the housework and
take care of Karen and do the volunteer work at the clinic and talk to
missionaries on Skype and put in some hours trying to generate some income by
working at the prison, and do some teaching at church, and, well, You know”. ”Yes,
I’ve been keeping track”, the Boss says. “I just wanted you to know that I have
missed our talks, the times when you would spend hours reading Scripture and
let me speak to you through my chosen words, and the times when you would take
time to pray, more by listening to what I might have for you than just giving
me back a short repetitive version of what I already know is going on. It is
like you have lost the awe of Who I Am, with no sense of depth, or
connectedness, or passion. Have you noticed recently that our communication has been
sort of an empty experience?”
So, OK, maybe this conversation didn’t really happen. But it really did. I picked up my Bible and through
prompting of the Holy Spirit began to read parts of Revelation, where there are
saints and angels and beings that have an inexhaustible supply of words, none
fully sufficient, to sing praise and thanksgiving and blessing to their God,
endlessly. And I realized once again that yes, my wife is no longer able to
find the words, the meaning, and the appreciation of things of love and life
and grandeur; she has a dementia. Me, I don’t have a dementia, at least not
yet. I have let my words and the awe and the sense of the Grand Canyon-like
overwhelming presence of being a child of God, free to talk with Him at any
time, and knowing that He always, always will understand, that I am the free
and forever recipient of a grace undeserved that has saved my life...I have let
these things desiccate. My condition is perhaps more ominous than hers.
The official update: There has been no recent change in Karen’s cognitive disease. She
continues to get the active drug of one of two new compounds that are supposed
to clean out the abnormal protein that causes the Alzheimer’s-associated damage
in certain parts of the brain, and perhaps there has been some slowing of the
progression. The other drug, which was in the research pipeline earlier, was
just recently withdrawn from further study because it failed to show any
significant difference in those receiving it; whether the one Karen is on is
sufficiently different to have a better clinical outcome will be revealed soon
as the results of our study should be reported
within the next month. On other medical fronts, she has a thyroid biopsy next month to make sure that her hyperthyroidism and large thyroid nodules do not
have a malignant origin. The blood clot issue has resolved and she is no longer
on anticoagulants. Our daughter and granddaughters in Texas are in the midst of
transition but are excelling throughout it all; our younger daughter here in
Arizona is expecting our fourth grandchild, our first grandson, in December. There
are abundant blessings in our lives.
Many of you have written over these past months, and I cherish each word. Communication is lifeblood
for me, and I am recognizing how much sadness has come from Karen’s loss of
words to express and share the depth and flavor and color of the life we have
lived and live together even now. So keep on writing; perhaps you will someday
know how meaningful your words are in my life.
But for now, I need to close; I have some other reading, and
some listening, to do...
Gratefully,
Barney
barneydavis@gmail.com; FB also works.
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