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Journal - February 2018
“Will the real Donna-Jean please stand up?” That phrase, from a 1950s quiz show, ‘What’s My Line?’ seems very appropriate to me today.
Where is the pretty girl I teased about her finally making it to the ‘top ten’ list of my girl-friends – those 56-odd years ago? Where is that beautiful woman who agreed to be my life’s partner – those 52 years ago? Where is that wonderful companion who shared my adventures in Europe and elsewhere for over 40 years? Where is that happy and excited woman who discovered – those 26 years ago, that she ‘still had it’ with her dancing and artistic creativity? And dared to turn her dreams into a reality? |
DONNA'S
STORY 
Donna demonstrating her Donald Trump style of leadership.
I'm not sure whether she is using a four-letter-word here or simply telling me to SHUT-UP |
Where is she? The one who loved to share her breakfasts with me on our patio in the warm summer mornings – just 10 years ago? Or a glass of Shiraz in the evenings; the two of us quietly sitting, partially hidden in the trees, watching our neighbours come and go? Donna loved our garden, with its many paths and hide-a-ways. In the early-Alzheimer’s years she could regularly be found wandering there.
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These are a few views of the ‘real’ Donna-Jean – a very small example of the thousands of memories I have of the pre-Alzheimer’s Donna – the ‘real’ Donna.
Today, Donna is but a shell of the ‘real’ Donna-Jean. These memories are no longer hers to enjoy; they’ve been taken away from her. There is very little of the ‘real’ Donna left.
And so today, I am a little depressed. I worry that these lovely memories are also slowly fading from me. Sometimes it feels like they are being replaced by a kind of ‘current reality’ and that is partly my fault. Through my writing of these journals, Donna’s life (and mine) is being chronicled in some detail. That detail is alive and in print and will be beside me and others for as long as I choose to keep it. I love writing about Donna in her ‘current reality’ even though it bothers me greatly to watch her slowly regress. And I do not want these documented ‘current reality’ memories to overshadow those wonderful memories of our pre-Alzheimer’s years. That is what I fear will happen.
My dreams are also getting in the way of reality – past and present. My dreams of Donna are all remembered the next day, and I must understand that they are simply a figment of my wild imagination. If I write of those dreams, they might replace reality with my fantasies. That would be an incorrect image. Donna is not a fantasy. She is not the perfect specimen that often appears in my dreams. She is a warm and loving ‘real’ person – with a real person’s emotions and idiosyncrasies; with a real person’s love...and fears.
Now, in 2018, Donna is slowly leaving behind her happy days that were so much part of her world in 2017. But, there is one beautiful event still occurring that I must hang on to for as long as I can.
I have often commented how Donna would hold her arms out to me, hug me and kiss me on my arrival. I must not make light of that. Apart from her glorious greetings that lift her spirits as well as mine, there is another thing that occurs – only occasionally. Donna usually spends most of her time in a chair and has difficulty rising to a standing position. But, as long as no-one interferes, she manages it herself. Unsteadily, she begins to walk and I encourage that as much as possible. I walk with her, very slowly, and hold her hand or arm to make sure she is steady. Then Donna stops; draws me in close to her and puts her arm around me. She stares up at me with love sparkling in her eyes and whispers, “Oh, Johnnie. I love you.” This is not a casual comment. She speaks from her heart. The moment is only fleeting, and is possibly the last remaining vestige of her true affection for me. But this is the ‘real’ Donna-Jean; still with a small spark left. This affection, not shown to others, is truly love, and I feel it very deeply. I only wish I could tell her.
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These are a few views of the ‘real’ Donna-Jean – a very small example of the thousands of memories I have of the pre-Alzheimer’s Donna – the ‘real’ Donna.
Today, Donna is but a shell of the ‘real’ Donna-Jean. These memories are no longer hers to enjoy; they’ve been taken away from her. There is very little of the ‘real’ Donna left.
And so today, I am a little depressed. I worry that these lovely memories are also slowly fading from me. Sometimes it feels like they are being replaced by a kind of ‘current reality’ and that is partly my fault. Through my writing of these journals, Donna’s life (and mine) is being chronicled in some detail. That detail is alive and in print and will be beside me and others for as long as I choose to keep it. I love writing about Donna in her ‘current reality’ even though it bothers me greatly to watch her slowly regress. And I do not want these documented ‘current reality’ memories to overshadow those wonderful memories of our pre-Alzheimer’s years. That is what I fear will happen.
My dreams are also getting in the way of reality – past and present. My dreams of Donna are all remembered the next day, and I must understand that they are simply a figment of my wild imagination. If I write of those dreams, they might replace reality with my fantasies. That would be an incorrect image. Donna is not a fantasy. She is not the perfect specimen that often appears in my dreams. She is a warm and loving ‘real’ person – with a real person’s emotions and idiosyncrasies; with a real person’s love...and fears.
Now, in 2018, Donna is slowly leaving behind her happy days that were so much part of her world in 2017. But, there is one beautiful event still occurring that I must hang on to for as long as I can.
I have often commented how Donna would hold her arms out to me, hug me and kiss me on my arrival. I must not make light of that. Apart from her glorious greetings that lift her spirits as well as mine, there is another thing that occurs – only occasionally. Donna usually spends most of her time in a chair and has difficulty rising to a standing position. But, as long as no-one interferes, she manages it herself. Unsteadily, she begins to walk and I encourage that as much as possible. I walk with her, very slowly, and hold her hand or arm to make sure she is steady. Then Donna stops; draws me in close to her and puts her arm around me. She stares up at me with love sparkling in her eyes and whispers, “Oh, Johnnie. I love you.” This is not a casual comment. She speaks from her heart. The moment is only fleeting, and is possibly the last remaining vestige of her true affection for me. But this is the ‘real’ Donna-Jean; still with a small spark left. This affection, not shown to others, is truly love, and I feel it very deeply. I only wish I could tell her.
Here is Donna devouring a much loved tub of chocolate ripple ice-cream.
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Yes! Donna continues to fade slowly. Her decline is noticeable to me and to others. There is a significant change when I look back to life just a year ago. Her traumatic fall, last July, and her bout with her dental problems has left her with, what appears to be a chronic gnashing of her teeth. The furrows on her brow leave her with an almost permanent frown. “Times; they are a-changing!”
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