Last summer a very handsome man kept proposing to me over and over again. “I really like you and I want to move this relationship along. So the question is: Will you marry me?”
I’ve been crazy about this guy for nearly 30 years, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say yes. Each time he popped the question, I would throw back my head and laugh, squeeze his hand tightly and reply, “I really like you, too, but here’s the deal: We’re already married!”
All I got in return was a blank stare.
My husband can’t remember much these days. Five years ago, he was diagnosed with vascular dementia. It’s almost impossible to put into words all the mixed emotions one feels as you watch a beloved partner slowly turn into a dramatically different person. The man who once led such an active, vibrant, influential life now sits in a recliner chair all day asking me why he has so many “blank spots” in his head.
A couple of weeks ago, my husband turned to me and asked for five copies of his résumé. An odd request, but I’ve learned to forgo any sense of logic and simply enter his reality. I found a short version of his résumé and made copies for him. Slowly and methodically, he went through the pages. Finally, he looked up at me and said, “Thank you. Now I can remember who I am.” That statement goes to the core of my grief.
I remember clearly who Curt Plott was: a young captain in the Marines; a Ph.D. in education at age 28; assistant executive director of the California Teachers Association; president of the Illinois Education Association; head of Johns Hopkins Medical Institution’s human resource department; and for the last 18 years of his professional life, chief executive of the American Society for Training and Development, now known as Association for Talent Development. For decades, my husband was known as a brilliant and dynamic leader.
But those days are over. I’m the one who must now take the lead on everything. And, the question I constantly ask myself is this: How do we go on? When there is no more reciprocity in a relationship, how does one person keep a marriage together, particularly when your “other half” is now a completely changed person?
It’s not easy. It takes commitment, patience, humor and endurance. It also takes physical, emotional and mental stamina to cope with the overwhelming demands of daily life. For so many years, Curt and I shared the tasks of running a household together. We were joint decision makers. Now everything has fallen on my shoulders. It’s a huge responsibility coupled with a huge loss. Exhausting and heartbreaking.
I never could have envisioned this scenario when we took our wedding vows on Valentine’s Day 1990. We had a whirlwind romance that started with a cup of coffee at a neighborhood hangout in Washington’s Georgetown neighborhood. Two months later, we were engaged and six weeks after that, we said “I do.” I was 43 years old and had never been married before. My life revolved around being a dedicated kindergarten teacher. Curt, 10 years my senior, was a handsome, charming, successful man. A total catch. Except that he did come with some “baggage.” He had three ex-wives.
Everyone thought we were both crazy. “You’re jumping into a fourth marriage and you’ve only known this schoolteacher chick for four months?” was the question Curt got the most. “A serial marry-er? You’ve got to be kidding.” “The guy must have issues.” “Three red flags.” Those were some of the warnings that came my way. But the two of us ignored the chatter, made our lifelong promises to each other, and floated off into marital bliss.
When we said the words “for better, for worse — in sickness and in health,” neither one of us had any idea of where the journey of life would take us. Who does? Most wedding vows are words that have not yet been defined. Luckily, Curt and I had a lot of good years together. We were best friends, romantic lovers, and easygoing companions. Both of us were committed to learning and growing as individuals as well as nurturing our love and partnership. We were looking forward to retirement. But, as John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
Our plans for the “golden years” included traveling the world, taking “encore” college classes, becoming community volunteers, hanging out at the gym, and spending more time with our family. Never did we plan for the life we’re living now.
But here we are. The man who was once my rock is now my full-time responsibility. His memory is full of holes. He can barely move out of his La-Z-Boy chair. (Exactly a year ago, he took a bad fall, which left him almost completely immobile.) Despite the physical challenges and his steady mental decline, there’s one thing that has remained constant: his love for me.
“Marry me!” I heard those words over and over again. Verbal repetition is a common behavior of dementia patients. It’s a symptom that can drive anyone crazy, but I knew that the repetition of this question was different. It didn’t stem from a loss of short-term memory, it was a real question coming from his heart.
How could I resist? I finally said yes.
I started making plans for a New Year’s Eve wedding. (Dec. 31 has always been a celebratory evening for us since that was the night Curt originally proposed.) Our dear friend, the Rev. Stuart Kenworthy, an Episcopal priest and the rector at Christ Church in Georgetown and canon at the Washington National Cathedral, agreed to lead the ceremony — a renewal of vows. I sent out handmade invitations; lined up a good team of elder-care aides; signed a contract with a caterer; bought a beautiful wedding gown; and even managed to track down the pastry chef who had baked our original wedding cake. Those were the fun things. The scary part was contemplating what could go wrong. One of the most stressful aspects of living with a spouse who has dementia is the vigilance it takes to stay ahead of the game. One never knows what real (or imaginary) thing might trigger an agitated response.
I tried to plan for every contingency that might occur. I even sent out last-minute cards reminding our guests that this occasion would be the ultimate “surprise” party since it was impossible to predict what Curt would or would not do that evening. But three days before the big night, I suddenly got cold feet. A week filled with one challenge after another prompted me to call Rev. Kenworthy to say that I thought it was best to cancel the party. His response was so comforting and compassionate. “Just think of it as a night of love and thanksgiving. God already knows what’s going on with Curt, so you don’t need to worry. We’ll just go with the flow.”
As it turned out, the night could not have gone better. Curt seemed to thoroughly enjoy being surrounded by the company of so many close friends, all of whom went out of their way to include him in the fun and festivities. He tapped his feet to the sounds of the Dixie Cups singing “Chapel of Love.” He shouted out “I will!” when it was his turn to reaffirm his wedding vows; and, finally, when Rev. Kenworthy announced “You may now kiss the bride,” Curt exclaimed, “Amen!” As the evening drew to a close, we cut into a gorgeous three-tiered wedding cake using his Marine Corps sword. At midnight, the echoes of “Auld Lang Syne” drifted through the house as our dear friends gathered together to bid farewell to the old year.
I was one happy bride. Watching my husband partake in the flow of real, shared connections brought me much joy. Being surrounded by a circle of friends who genuinely care for us made me feel incredibly blessed. Recommitting to the promises I made so long ago was an emotional moment. Tender, poignant and reflective. Our marriage vows have been tested — and the center still holds.
We crawled into bed late that night, but I was still floating. “I love you” I said to Curt as I closed my eyes.
Reaching for my hand, and placing it over his heart, he whispered back, “The feeling is mutual.” Those are the most romantic words I’ve ever heard. These days “happily ever after” comes in small moments. I’m learning to cherish every one of them.
Lynda Elizabeth Jeffrey lives in Washington with her husband, Dr. Curtis Plott. After teaching elementary school for 30 years, she is now an author, freelance writer and full-time caregiver.
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