Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
These are not the footsteps of an Expedition Woman in her prime, or even of Cindy’s footsteps just three months ago. This awkward, heavy “plop” is the footstep of someone with advanced Alzheimer’s, as we go for our afternoon walk on the day Halloween.
My mind shifts from listening to her footsteps to deep thoughts. Walking and writing go hand-in-hand for me. Walking leads to thinking, thinking leads to writing, my writing habit craves more walking for stimulation. On this particular walk I’m thinking about a future blog post about coping with Alzheimer’s … and about the seasonal significance of Halloween.
Halloween in the Northeast serves as a breaking point for fall. Early fall, before Halloween, is a vibrant season of colors and the best climate for being outdoors to enjoy them. School has started with school kids engaged in sports and other outdoor play, adding enthusiastic sound to the spectacular sight. Late fall, after Halloween, is a fading season of browns, with a wintry chill driving people indoors. This particular Halloween also serves as a breaking point for our walks.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
The question audiences ask most about our 5,000 mile hike across the country is how many shoes did we wear out. I was on my seventh pair of all-terrain running shoes at the end; Cindy was on her third. My pronation contributed to that discrepancy, but the reason I always offer in reply was Cindy being light on her feet. This explanation drew a knowing smirk from the audience along with delighting Cindy. Alas, Cindy no longer is light on her feet.
As we continue to walk, holding hands as always, her balance and/or navigation system are off. She continually steers towards cutting me off; through our held hands I continually steer her to go straight. We wade through a large pile of leaves along the Maple Avenue sidewalk when Cindy’s footstep slips off the hidden curb. She gives a little yelp and might have fallen if I were not holding her hand. Even so she is shaken by this further onslaught to her balance. She no longer trusts her footsteps; she hasn’t for awhile now.
A few months ago, during midsummer, I reported on this blog the shrinking distance Cindy can walk, shrinking by 60% every six months. If the trend continued I projected she would not be able to walk more than 2.6 miles by this coming January. That projection was wrong. Over the past three months we first cut out the eastern loop of our four mile walk, then the loop that brought us by Ky’s, then the loop around the ball field. We are two months away from January and I dare not walk more than a mile with her, a rapid 75% reduction in distance over three months.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
On this Halloween day we aim for the fountain on the village green and turn back. The fountain is boarded up now for the impending change in season. I continue to mull over the future blog post about coping as we circumvent the green. The motivation for that post was to let folks know I am not as saddened or heartbroken as people might infer from my writings. I try to describe things as they are; for many that seems sad or heartbreaking; for me there is more inspiration than heartbreak. There are reasons for that, my coping mechanisms if you will. I figure these coping mechanisms might prove valuable for anyone in a similar situation.
Yet Cindy’s footsteps deliver the ultimate irony as they interrupt my thoughts on coping. For most of our day together I am inspired and inferences about sadness are off the mark. Our walks now are the one time when such inferences are justified. Hiking defined us as a couple. Our mutual love for hiking is how we met, what we are most passionate about, what became our salvation when Cindy’s mental health first deteriorated. Now walking mainly serves as a cruel measurement for the fading footsteps of an Expedition Woman, fading like the vegetation around us in late fall. We are at our own breaking point, the very activity which once brought us joy, like the joy of vibrant fall colors, now does the opposite.
Yet even so our Halloween hike provides a little inspiration before we are done. We walked down a very small, leaf covered slope on our approach to Emerson Street. This route brings us straight to Gus, our favorite neighborhood dog. This time Cindy slides on the leaves and ends up lying on the ground amidst a pile of them. I know what is going through her mind as she lays there looking up, a despairing “How has it come to this?” Before that thought can solidify I pretend she meant to be playing in the leaves, just as kids do, and scoop more leaves on top of her. Cindy laughs because that is what she was meant to do, seek to enjoy life the best she can, always, even as witnesses might be heartbroken by her fall.
I help Cindy stand up and brush the leaves off of her. We give each other a hug to confirm “Wasn’t that fun?” We are near our house now and walk the “home stretch” mainly in silence, mainly in a good mood, yet still hearing the fading footsteps of fall.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
