Till Death Do Us Part...

            “Sir, can I help you?”
            I was working with my co-worker, also named Anna, when an older gentleman  wandered into the back room for employees only. I glanced up from making his wife’s sandwich as Anna helped the elderly man. His wife, a beautiful older lady with pretty eyes and an easy smile, quickly said, “Oh, let me go help him.” She hurried away to go help her husband, speaking to him in a gentle and loving voice. Two things were obvious from observation: 1. Her husband clearly wasn’t all there, most likely suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. 2. His wife still loved him very much. I remember the last years of my Grandma’s life. We would visit her at the nursing home after church every Sunday. I was too young to understand the impact of my Grandma’s Alzheimer’s, but I understood one thing: my Grandma didn’t know me. Only once do I remember watching as a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. To those who don’t know anyone suffering from Alzheimer’s, it’s hard to wrap their mind around. But those like me who have watched loved ones suffer from it know it doesn’t just affect the victim, but everyone around it.

            After I got off work, I continued to think about the couple. I imagined a younger version of them, pictures of black-and-white photographs of them flashing through my head. Perhaps he’d been in the army and they had gotten married as soon as he’d returned home. I imagined a wedding photograph of the young couple, bursting with happiness, their love apparent to all. I imagined pictures of them holding their newborn infant, their faces glowing with peace and pride. And then the growing up years…more children were added to the photos, more wrinkles appeared on their faces. And before they knew it, their children were flying the nest and heading off to college, leaving just the two of them, older, wiser, but still in love.

            And maybe that’s when he began to forget. Slowly at first, but more steadily as the years advanced. First it was forgetting the year, but then other things…his grandchild’s name, his address. It all led up to the doctor’s diagnosis: Alzheimer’s. Then I imagined the day that she’d finally realized that’d she’d lost him. How devastating and heart-breaking that moment must have been! But even though she’d lost him, one fact remained the same: she still loved him. Not just for who he once was, but for who he still was. It was a kind of love that stretched farther than any emotion. A love that says, “Will you love me even if I forget your name? Will you love me even if I have no clue who you are?” A love that means what it says when it says, “I’ll love you till death do us part. In sickness and health. For better or worse.”  It’s that kind of love that makes the world spin round. A love that says, “I’ll still love you…even if you forget that you love me, too.”