Remembering Jenny

Jenny had Alzheimer's before Alzheimer was a word. We called it hardening of the arteries back when I was in high school. She didn't mean to be difficult, she didn't even know she was being difficult. Tales abounded of her wandering about naked, her husband in hot pursuit. I can't imagine how it must have been for Harold to see the woman he had loved for decades become infantile in her behavior.

Harold was treated with respect by those who knew the situation, yet the full burden of Jenny's care fell upon his shoulders alone. As far as I knew, no one lent a hand to see to her care. You could see his tiredness in the droop of his shoulders, his lack of sleep in the wan color of his face. I never heard him complain though he surely had reason since this situation went on for some time.

He brought Jenny to church every Sunday he was able in spite of her condition. He bathed her and dressed her in the same floral print dress, strand of pearls, and gauze decorated straw hat that she had always worn, the outfit that marked her as a long time member of the Presbyterian community.

She still smiled at everyone through her black rimmed glasses, her hair slightly askew and her once impeccable lipstick somewhat smudged. I am sure she would have been both mortified and grateful had she been able to understand her situation. Mortified at her unlady-like and unChristian actions, and extremely grateful to Harold for his commitment.

He spoke to her with kindness and patience, as if to a toddler who didn't know any better, and tried to maintain for her some semblance of normality despite the gargantuan effort to complete even the simplest of tasks. I never once saw him snap at her or lose his temper.

I think of Jenny from time to time, especially when I am facing unknown health issues that could affect my mind and turn me into a bowl of Jello. More to the point, I remember Harold's remarkable care and his simple acceptance of responsibility for the task unexpectedly handed him by life.

Disease affects so much more than just the person with the symptoms. It touches many lives, even if by story. We feel so helpless in the face of the unmanageable and undefined problems that crop up, long term or otherwise. Its so frustrating to be hurt and in pain when you are not the sick one.

Sometimes I think about what would happen if suddenly I "Jenny-ed" out of control. In this day and age, I suppose I would be committed to some institution who would manage my care and see to my needs. Family members would come visit from time to time, but eventually give up due to the futility of it all.

Harolds are few and far between these days and I'm not sure I would deserve such dedication anyway. I just have one question. Who was with Harold after Jenny died when he was sick and in need of a helping hand?