A recent letter writer told Dear Abby the disease of Alzheimer’s is not, "the punch line of a joke." I winced. How many times, unable to find my keys or remember where I left my glasses, have I chuckled and said, "I must be getting Alzheimer’s?" World Alzheimer's Day, September 21st, is the day Alzheimer associations concentrate their efforts, raising awareness about those suffering from dementia.
     Like my friend’s mother, who doesn’t always remember she and her sister have adjoining rooms at a nursing home. She has gone so far as to pack up her things in preparation to move back home. One time, she was certain the two of them had just returned from a cruise; she was anxious to share her vacation news with her daughter.
     Nine years ago, my mother stepped off an airplane, walked quickly to greet the friends who’d come to pick her up, and told them of the wonderful time she’d spent traveling. On the ride home, she mentioned not feeling well; her friends drove her to the hospital. Just like that, Mom was gone. I never got to say good-bye or thank her. Never had one last chance to beg her forgiveness for all the times I mouthed off and disobeyed her. Just like that, my life was forever changed. I tell myself I had spoken to her the day before she left on her trip, told her I loved her, and wished her a bon voyage, but still . . .
     My father managed for years with an autoimmune disease that attacked his muscles, then suffered a stroke nearly 17 years ago. Brain surgery, a feeding tube, weeks in intensive care, and a wheelchair followed. Physically, he was a mess; but his mind was razor-sharp, making him painfully aware of his own decline. Cancer followed; other complications arose. There were many close calls. A doctor said he didn’t know how many times Dad could be pulled through. He mentioned borrowed time. Over and over, I said, "I love you." I would have said good-bye forever.
     Alzheimer’s has been called the long good-bye. As a nation, we saw this when former President Ronald Regan announced he had been diagnosed with the disease. Through television news clips, we were privy to the slow and steady progression of the illness. Towards the end, Mrs. Regan said, ''Ronnie's long journey has finally taken him to a distant place where I can no longer reach him."
     My mother and father were in their 70s when they died. I wanted many more years with them, but how can I feel sorry for myself when my last conversations with them were coherent and they knew who I was? When they were able to say, "I love you," back to me. My friend has made me aware of the toll Alzheimer’s takes on the families whose loved ones are trapped in the fog of dementia. Even though her mother is in the earlier stage of confusion and irritability, she knows there will come a time when her mother won’t know her.
     On September 21st, please think of my friend and the estimated 24 million people (according to Alzheimer’s Disease International) like her mother who suffer from dementia. Think of them the next day. And the days that follow. Instead of making jokes when we’re forgetful, let’s make a promise to learn more about Alzheimer’s. And let’s not forget about it.