I have a permanent date on my calendar, and it takes a mighty big invitation to make me break it. The gathering at the local Alzheimer's Association office on the fourth Thursday of the month at 4 p.m. is very high on my life's priority list because I spend that 90 minutes with folks I have come to love, those who have Alzheimer's or dementia and their caregivers.
It's informal and fun, this monthly session in which we play games, talk and mostly laugh. Sometimes we go around the circle and answer questions that stir memories and prompt giggles and grins. This week it was indoor bowling, and I helped out as a pin girl, straightening and replacing those big white statues with the big red bow-ties and rolling the ball back to the next bowler.
I definitely exercised my body and mind as I laughed and cheered with everyone else and learned not to groan too loudly when there was a gutter ball. The Alzheimer's staff coordinator said we needed to form a bowling team and get shirts and everything. Now that would be a beautiful sight to see.
As I watched the ball roll over and over, I thought of a couple who would have loved today's activity and probably have laughed the loudest, Molly, my dear friend who recently passed away, and her husband Joe, who has Alzheimer's. I remember the story she told me about their first date. Joe invited her out to a bowling banquet, and it wasn't until Joe kept racking up award after award that Molly realized that he was one of the best bowlers in town, if not the region.
Ah, what a girl does for love! She knew nothing about bowling and immediately enlisted the help of family and friends to teach her the game. And she learned her lessons well, as a teacher often does. Did he ask her to marry him because she acquired this new skill? I think it was probably more than that, but she made this sacrifice to please the man she loved.
And she continued to do that throughout their married life, more than 40 years, to love, honor and cherish the man who loved, honored and cherished her. It was that same devotion that carried her as an Alzheimer's caregiver for several years until her body simply wore out. Talk about sacrifice. There's none greater.
Part of me wants to weep in sadness for missing my friend, but a bigger part of me suddenly laughs as I swear I can hear the big pins crashing in heaven as Molly continues to perfect her technique … as she patiently awaits Joe to join her when Alzheimer's is done with him.
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