My Story

*********************

My first husband died when I was 67 years old. He had barely retired when a massive heart attack took him from me.
I thought I would never recover. He was my best friend for fifty years, and I couldn't imagine my life without him.
Then I met Tom.

We met at a seniors' dance at the church on the corner. A friend had asked me to tag along, and although
I hadn't been out socially in over a year and a half, something made me go that night. Tom had moved into the neighbourhood
the year before, and although I noticed him a few times when he went for his nightly walks, we had never spoken.
He lived three doors past the corner on the cross street. He had decided it was time to sell the large home
he had lived in for forty years and rent a smaller place, one where the owners would do the yard work and repairs as part of the rent,
and he could just relax and enjoy his later years. He had the bottom floor of a beautiful old home,
and the young couple who owned it lived upstairs with their two young ones and looked after the place.

Funny thing is, Tom ended up doing most of the yard work and the handiwork, just to keep himself busy and active.
He loved to putter, and he loved children. He would often babysit the two youngsters and persuade
the young couple to go out for an evening alone, saying,
"Enjoy each other all you can, while you can. Someday one of you may be gone."
Tom had lost his wife ten years before and said there would never be another like her. He hated being alone at first,
but after a while grew comfortable with his lifestyle. He loved to travel, exploring new places
and stopping to check out antique shops wherever he went.

We spoke of that and other things the night we met. He approached me almost cautiously, as though he thought
I was a delicate flower that might wilt at the sound of his voice. I could barely hear him, he spoke so softly,
but all I had to do was look into those gentle brown eyes of his to know I was safe in his keeping.

I accepted his invitation, and he led me to the dance floor. We were a little awkward together for the first few moments,
but our bodies soon adjusted to the rhythm of the song, and we waltzed around the floor like a couple
who had been together for years. He was a wonderful dancer, and I so loved to dance.
I swear I fell in love with him during that first waltz

We barely sat down the whole night, and we talked easily about our lives, discovering many things we had in common.
We both loved long walks, holding hands, good music, Italian food, children, and antiques.
Trivia was our favourite topic, and we constantly quizzed each other on our memories of old T.V. shows, song lyrics,
and the little things in life. His memory was far better than mine, and he brought back such a palatable wave of nostalgia.
I didn't stop smiling the whole night.

We talked into the evening until my friend, Rita, reappeared and asked if I was ready to go home.
I had forgotten her completely and apologized profusely, but she hadn't minded. Roger, her somewhat
younger next door neighbour, had rescued her from sitting alone, and now he was ready to walk her
the few steps to her front door. She looked at me with a smile and a wink that went unnoticed by Roger;
but Tom, in his infinite wisdom, quickly reached for my hand.
"We're going to have one more spin around the dance floor, and then I'm going to escort my new *best gal* to her door. Do you mind?"
he asked her, and she gave him a thankful smile and squeezed my hand. When they left, Tom turned to me
and asked if I minded, because he had the feeling they wanted to be alone. I laughed, shook my head,
and looked into his deep brown eyes with their mischievous twinkle. "Not at all," I replied with a warm smile.

He was as good as his word and led me expertly around the dance floor one last time. Then he retrieved my sweater
from the back of the chair I had been sitting in, and placed it around my shoulders, giving them a
little squeeze with the palms of his hands. I felt a warmth from this man that defied description,
and I smiled to myself as he handed me my purse and gently placed his hand on the small of my back to signal our departure.
As we stepped into the cool night air, I felt like a teenager on her first date about to receive my first kiss.
I was too old for this stuff, but there it was. I almost laughed at the thought and Tom,
sensing my amusement, asked what I was thinking.

"It's been a long time since I was on a date and had someone walk me home."
He chuckled softly and said in a half whisper, "A little scarey, isn't it?"
I smiled and turned to look at him and saw he wasn't kidding. He looked a little timid and swallowed hard enough
that I could hear the growling sound his throat made as his esophagus closed over. We both paused for a moment
and then burst into laughter, and he stopped and gave me a big playful hug. His arms felt good around me
and I seemed to fit perfectly into the hollow of his big Irish chest. It was then that it happened, without warning,
with nary a thought of who might be watching. He lowered his head and our lips met, softly and hesitantly
at first and then with an urgency that took us both by surprise.

He stepped back a little and said he was sorry to have been so forward. I looked deep into his eyes
and took his hand. I kissed his palm, placed it against my cheek, and then raised my index finger to my lips
and said, "Shhhh. Don't apologize, unless you didn't mean it."

His eyes were soft and warm, and I felt this surge of emotion. It had been a very long time,
but I recognized that feeling, and a warm blush immediately crossed my cheeks.
"And just what might you be thinking," he said in an exaggerated Irish brogue. My one hand raised
to my cheek as if to hide the evidence, and the other took his firmly and led him up the steps of my house.
I reached into my purse and handed him my key. He turned, slid it into the lock, and turned the latch,
stepping into the hallway as he opened it. I followed and reached for the light. His hand reached out
and stopped me, and I heard my purse hit the linoleum floor as he scooped me into his arms and
closed the door with the same fluid motion. My breath caught and the feelings became almost overwhelming.

When he finally released me, I turned and started up the stairs, flicking the switch on as I went.
He caught my forearm and whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I whispered back, continuing up the long staircase. When we reached my room, I turned on
a small lamp just inside the door, quickly lit a scented candle, and turned out the light.
We kissed again, and I felt the years melt away. I felt like a love sick young girl as he gently
released my hair from the clasp that held it in place and then began to fumble with my buttons like some prepubescent lover.

When our clothes finally lay side by side at our feet, his hands and mouth showed the expertise of a grown man.
He awakened in me feelings long buried and passion I never knew existed. I felt caught between
the struggle to be proper and decent, and longing to feel the touch of his large masculine hands.

Such a mix of emotion washed over me that I thought I might faint. Then he drew back the covers
with one swipe of his big Irish forearm and laid me in the soft warmth of my bed. The rest of
the world disappeared as he eased his body next to mine and his strong hands spoke to me in a dialect all their own.

We watched the sunrise the next morning and every morning after that for the next six months.
We talked and laughed through the late spring and all through the summer. We went to movies,
took long walks, talked for hours on end and even went to the amusement park to ride the roller coaster.
Just one more thing we had in common. I never felt so alive, so free, and so in love.

My children delighted in the new me, or was it the old me rekindled? Either way, there was a flame
in me that burned brighter than any candle, and they were happy for my new found zest for life.
They quickly learned to love Tom, and he them. He had no family of his own. His wife had been a
diabetic and very frail, so they made the decision not to have children. He grew to love my family
and took to dropping in on them unexpectedly, doing odd jobs, like fixing a leaky faucet or a squeaky door
or driving the grandchildren to baseball practice or just to the park to "hang out". He quickly
became a friend to all and an important member of the family.

And so it followed, that on my 69th birthday, he presented me with an engagement ring and got down on one knee,
in the middle of our favourite restaurant, in front of my whole family, and proposed marriage. How could I refuse?
This big, Irish hulk of a man sat down and cried like a baby when I said, "Yes," and of course we all joined in.
The restaurant owner brought champagne, and the waiters all toasted our health and happiness.
It was the best birthday I ever had.

The wedding took place in the church on the corner, where we had met that first night.
At one point I thought I must be crazy to marry so late in life, but everyone agreed I would be crazy not to.
Rita and Roger stood up for us, and all our friends and neighbours joined us in celebration as we
returned to our favourite restaurant for a delicious meal and some dancing, of course.

We were deleriously happy for five wonderful years, and then things began to change, slowly and without much warning.
It started innocently enough. Tom would do little things, like forget the lyrics to our favourite song
or forget to lock the door when he went for his daily walk. Then he would do things like put the crackers in the fridge
or a dirty glass back in the cupboard. We'd laugh and go on with our day as if nothing was wrong.
More and more his memory failed him, and I dubbed him "The Absent Minded Professor."

Then one day, something happened that made me stop and question all those little seemingly unimportant incidences
that had been happening for the past year or more. I was walking along with my granddaughter, Laurie,
in the business section of our small town and noticed Tom sitting on a park bench on the little strip median
of the main street. He was sitting on the edge of the seat, scratching his head and searching up and down the street,
with a bewildered look on his face.

As we approached him, he seemed quite confused, and then I saw the gleam of recognition in his eyes
and saw his shoulders visibly relax. "Well, it's about time you two got here," he said.
We looked at each other, puzzled, and then back at him. We had had no plans to meet him, so didn't know what he meant,
but he quickly stood and tossed his car keys in Laurie's direction, giving her a wink and asking
if she'd mind driving his car home. He mumbled something about being pooped from doing yard work earlier
and said he'd like to drive home with me, his *best gal*. We smiled, and Laurie walked off down the street
towards the big blue Buick parked at the curb in plain sight. "Hmmm, so that's the one,"
he muttered and looped his arm through mine. I knew then something was not normal.

We went through the next few weeks without incident, and I had almost begun to believe the episode downtown
had been a figment of my imagination. Then Tom did something very strange. We were sitting watching T.V.
one night when he walked up to our bedroom, took a suitcase from the shelf of the closet,
and started packing some clothes. I heard him shuffling around opening and closing dresser drawers,
and my curiosity led me to investigate. He was packing his things very neatly, taking great care to fold
his shirts carefully so as not to cause too many wrinkles. I looked at him questioningly,
and he stopped to give me a peck on the cheek.

"Where are you going?" I asked. He looked at me for a long hard moment, and then I saw a tear
trickle down his cheek. "What is it Tom?" I asked. His voice cracked as he answered my earlier question.
"I don't know," he sobbed and sat down on the end of the bed. "Something's wrong, I don't know where I'm going."
I took his face in my hands and tilted it up to mine. I kissed him softly on the lips and said,
"Never mind, we'll figure it out tomorrow," and we laid down and held each other until the sun rose the next morning.

We lay there for a long time when we awoke, just gazing out the window and up into the big maple tree
that towered above the eaves of our two story house. The birds hopped in and out among the branches,
gathering bits of twig and leaf or just happily chirping in the early dawn. Tom didn't move for a long time
and I wondered what he could be thinking. I reached up and brushed a stray hair from his forehead
and noticed the slight trace of a frown on his brow.

My fingers brushed his eyebrow and I lowered the palm of my hand and held it there. He suddenly smiled
and let out a little breath of air as if he thought something was mildly amusing.
"Do I have a fever?" he asked in a half whisper. "No," I said. "I just wanted to smooth out that frown.
What caused it?" He turned his head slowly and looked into my eyes. The hint of merriment was gone
and he looked deadly serious.

"There's something terribly wrong with me," he said. "Things like last night have been happening more and more.
I think it's time we went to a doctor."
"I agree," I said quietly. He went on. "Do you remember that day you and Laurie found me downtown?"
I nodded my head slowly, not really wanting to hear what he was about to say because it scared me, but knowing I must.
"I was so confused. I couldn't for the life of me remember which car was mine. I knew it was one
of the cars just in front of the hardware store, but I didn't know which one. I was about to panic,
when I looked up and saw the face of an angel. The face of my "best gal" and I knew I would be Ok."
He turned his head to plant a warm kiss on my cheek, then continued. "I married you with every intention
of taking care of you, but it seems now like you may end up taking care of me, and that's not right."

"Shhhh," I whispered and placed my index finger, vertically across his lips.
"There'll be no more of that kind of talk, Thomas Patrick. We'll take care of each other."

The next few weeks were filled with running to the doctors and the hospital. They put poor Tom through
every test they could think of to determine what might be wrong. At the end of it, our doctor called
and said he'd like to see the two of us on Monday around 4:30PM. I knew then there must be something terrible wrong.
His office normally closed at 4:30, so he obviously wanted to tell us when there was no one around,
a sure sign of bad news.

I tried to shut it out of my mind and enjoy the weekend, but it was always there. My family sensed something
and held close for those two days, never letting us be alone for too long. Tom was happy and content
to sit with the grandchildren watching old movies while my daughter, Julie, helped me finish some gardening
I was meaning to get at and assisted with the veggie chopping for dinner. We talked about old memories
of past dinners and I thought of my first husband, Frank. He was a good man and a wonderful father.
I loved him dearly, but I was so thankful that Tom had come into my life. He was so different from Frank,
so full of life and energy. He made me feel young and strong and beautiful and the thought that I might
lose him too, was more than I could bear. My daughter sensed my sudden anxiety and reached over to squeeze my hand.

"Whatever happens, you know we'll be here for you," she said in a low tone, cautious not to let Tom hear.
"I love you Mom." "And I'm rather fond of you too," I said in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood
as a tear trickled down my cheek. She responded with a warm smile and brushed the tiny droplets
away with the dishtowel. "Come on lassie," she said in a fake Irish accent. "You don't want Tom
to see his "best gal" cry, do you?" Her accent was so bad, I couldn't help but chuckle.
We finished up what we were doing and went to join the others. There was much laughter that evening
and I would cherish the memory of it for many years.

We met with the doctor on Monday afternoon and he started out by telling us that most of the tests
had come back fine. He said there was nothing physically wrong according to the tests, but that
the psychological tests showed a decline in Tom's cognitive abilities and a slight but noticeable
change in his reflexes showed up in the physical exam. He was also concerned with the depression Tom
had been experiencing and his anxiety and recurrent sleeplessness. Tom had taken to wandering
about the house at night, sometimes reading or watching T.V. I thought it was just his worry about
why he was so forgetful, but now I was beginning to realize it was part of something bigger.

The doctor said the words softly and with much compassion and I was so deep in thought I almost missed them.
"Oh, how I wish I had. How I wish I could stop the clock or turn it back and erase each one of those awful words.
" "Alzheimers Disease." My Tom had Alzheimers Disease, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I felt a tear slide slowly down my cheek as the impact of those words sank into my brain.
I had heard of Alzheimers Disease many times and knew it was not something a person could recover from.
It could go very quickly or drag on for many years. I knew only that I didn't want my Tom to suffer in any way
and that I would care for him for as long as we had left. As we left the office, my son Richard
led us quietly to his car. He had offered to bring us, because he didn't want me to drive if the news was bad and I was upset.
I was thankful now that he was here. He said not a word to either of us and made sure we were safely tucked
into our seats before closing the door and walking round to take his place on the driver's side.
We drove home in silence, except for the radio playing softly. Elevator music, my kids used to call it.
Funny how they were the generation who listened to it now.

When we reached our home, Richard hurried round to help us out and walked us up the steps to the door,
then turned as if to go. I touched his arm and said, "Please come in for a moment. I think you need
to hear what's going on." He gave me a little half smile and nodded his head, then followed me inside,
closing the door quietly behind him.

We sat in our cozy little livingroom. It was filled with our things. Momentos of our trips to interesting places,
antiques we had scouted out in little towns along the backroads, and pictures, such happy pictures
of our short life together. A fading ray of sunshine peeked from behind a cloud and crossed the big front porch,
then shone softly through the window and touched the photo resting on a table near the far wall.
It was a picture of our wedding. We were so happy then, so hopeful that we'd be together for a very long time.
We had no idea how long that would be now and I felt a small shiver run up my spine as I lowered myself
onto the sofa beside Tom, and took his hand in mine.

I asked Richard to call Julie, as I knew she would be waiting anxiously, and I listened as he gently
and in almost a whisper said, "We're here..... yes, Ok" A few moments later, we heard her car pull in
and Richard met her at the door. It was growing chilly now that the sun was going down and a whirling current
of fall air crossing the porch, sent a cool draft into the room. Richard closed the door quickly and took Julie's coat,
lying it carefully over the bannister at the base of the staircase. Then they both entered the room
and sat across from us on the antique love seat.

I managed a little smile, and they returned in kind. I squeezed Tom's hand and he looked into my eyes
and then at my children, clearing his throat as he began. "As you know, I've been feeling a little under the weather lately.
Well, let's face it, I've been acting peculiar. The doc says I have something called Alzheimer's Disease."

Richard's face didn't betray him. He kept a perfect poker face and nodded slowly. Julie on the other hand
let her emotions show. She let out a little gasp and then whispered, "Oh no!" as she looked at me with tears
welling up in her eyes. Richard's arm went around his sister and he rubbed her back soothingly as she leaned
against his chest. It was an old, familiar habit from when they were children. Whenever she would
scrape a knee or have her feelings hurt, Richard would run to her rescue. He had been her protector
and champion all through their growing years. How happy I was that they were so close,
even now when they were all grown up.

We told them all the doctor had told us and they listened with sadness and concern. Julie made us a pot of tea
and placed the tray on the coffee table. She and Richard gathered their coats then and after saying their goodbyes
and giving us extra long hugs, left us to ourselves. I poured the tea and fixed it just the way Tom liked it
as I had always done. We sipped our tea and talked about what we planned to do, at least as far as we could plan,
then we retired for the night. After Tom fell asleep, some time later, I quietly descended the stairs
and returned to that room. I walked over and lifted our wedding picture to my lips and kissed the image of his face.
"How can I live without you," I said quietly as I looked into those big brown eyes of his. Then the tears came
and I thought I would drown in a sea of sadness. I cried long into the night as Tom slept peacefully in our bed.

The next morning I awoke with a start. I opened my eyes and went to lift my head and a pain ran
down my neck and into my shoulder. I had fallen asleep on the couch and my neck was a little stiff.
After a few moments of rubbing my neck and moving my head around, it began to loosen a little and I
realized it was very chilly in the room. I got up to check the thermostat in the front hall and noticed the door ajar.
A cold chill ran through me, but it wasn't the chilly air that caused it. I called out Tom's name and heard nothing.
I quickly checked our room and saw no sign of him. His slippers were placed side by side near his night table
where he always kept them and there was no sign of his pajamas which he usually tossed across the foot
of the bed when he got dressed. "Where could he be?" I wondered loud.
"Tom.... Tom, where are you?"

I searched the rest of the house and found no trace of him. I was about to pick up the phone
to call Richard when I heard voices on the porch. I hurried to the door and there was Tom,
wrapped in a big wooly blanket, his silver-white hair all tousled. He was chatting amiably
with a young woman I recognized from down the block. "There's my 'best gal,'" he said, pointing at me.

He handed her the blanket, said "Thank you," and disappeared past me up the stairs. She stepped in for a moment
out of the cold and explained that she had found him wandering in her backyard calling my name.
He was still wearing his flannel pajamas and bare feet. I told her he was ill, and she said if there
was anything she could do to help, please call. She said her name was Mary Ellen. She had an aunt
with Alzheimer's and knew how hard it could be. I thanked her profusely and after closing the door,
I leaned against it and began to cry all over again. Tom didn't hear me and went about his daily routine
as if nothing had happened. I began to wonder what would become of us.

For the end of the story *click* here.
My Story Continued

Website by Dorothy     Copyright © in Canada 1997