Holding Hands

While on some errands right before coming to Florida for our “exercise program,” Cindy and I were behind a car with a license plate that ended in “YYY.” I could not help but comment: “That car has a lot of questions.” To somewhat my surprise, Cindy laughed at my joke. I asked her if she knew what I was talking about. She struggled to reply to the direct question as usual, but continued to smile and pointed to the license plate while trying to say the words.

Juxtapose that with what happened our first day at our timeshare in Orlando. We spent a couple hours unpacking and settling in for our long stay, then we went grocery shopping. We walked to a nearby shopping center, stopped at a Subway for that evening’s meal, bought about a week’s worth of food supplies, then started walking back.

I always hold Cindy’s hand now while walking. When we were hiking the Pacific Crest Trail the pathway kept her focused; in an open, populated area she needs a guiding hand both to keep her going in the right direction and to simply keep her going. If I hold her left hand our hands are usually kept low. If I hold her right hand our elbows are often crooked and the hands elevated, because her mind is stuck on holding a walking stick in that position. Of course, holding hands also is a good way to reassure Cindy of my continued affection for her.

As we walked back from the shopping center a colorful, peaceful twilight approached with the setting Florida sun. We walked in silence, me clasping Cindy with a crooked elbow on the one hand, carrying bags of food low in the other. People might have judged us to either be tourists or homeless. Cindy interrupted my meditative walk by calmly asking: “Do we have a place to stay tonight?”

She asked the question without struggling, perfectly formed words in a perfectly formed sentence. She could do so because she had not been put on the spot by another’s question, nor was there any urgency or self-doubt behind her own. As to the latter, one might think a person to have some urgency if they are wondering where they will stay as they walk a major city road at twilight. Yet Cindy is an Expedition Woman. She was not the least bit concerned because she trusted I had everything figured out, even if what I “figured out” was camping in a city park with our sleeping bags. Been there; done that. She seemed to be perfectly fine in all respects except for not being able to remember settling into our timeshare that same afternoon.

This reveals the fickleness of Alzheimer’s. The mind can interpret and understand on the one hand but have trouble focusing and remembering on the other. Now that we’ve been at our timeshare for awhile Cindy does not wonder where we will be sleeping. Even remembering is possible for someone with advanced Alzheimer’s if there is enough constant reinforcement. As the fog continues to envelop Cindy’s mind my hope is that, with enough constant reinforcement such as holding hands, my love remains fixed in her memories until the end.