The increasingly male face of caregiving

I never had the opportunity to witness the kindness of a man towards a woman, with Alzheimer's disease, until I started attending the caretaker's meetings. Paul was a slightly framed man, with a faded and tired look below his gray thinning hair. He knew how to douse for water and he believed in the supernatural. That is how we first began talking at the table, while we waited for snacks at the meetings.

Paul's wife, Ann would sit between us in a flurry of movement that kept her busy in her own little world w/o words. He told me how he dressed his wife every morning, when she woke. I could see from her tiny little earrings that he took great care in making sure that Ann was ready for the day, as she was dressed with such love.

She sat between us, not quite grasping the idea of how-to-eat. Paul took the plastic spoon and as it was filled with cake, he would gently put the food to her lips. When, she had enough, she would turn towards Paul for more attention and start to hit at him or scratch his arms.

I knew he was tired. He had to be, as he carried the responsibility for Ann all by himself. No children and friends that with age had gone on towards their own journeys. Each time, they came to the meetings, Paul would dress Ann and have a van pick them up. His eyes were losing the ability to see as they once had and he knew his days with Ann as her caretaker would be numbered on a shorter calendar.

The love that Paul had for Ann was so apparant in his kind attention. He made sure that she was the focus of his attention. At 85 yrs. of age, Paul like most people preparing for an ending, was tired. But, his spirit was determined to take care of Ann for as long as they could both manage.

There are never going to be any happy endings with the curse of this disease. The only hope is that someday there may be a way to eliminate the ravages of the disease or keep-it-from ever attacking the minds and the bodies of human beings.