A Promise Kept - Segment #7
Jack insisted on taking her to a specialist at the local university, much to her objection. After running extensive tests, the doctor confirmed Jack’s worst fear when he told them she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Neither of them knew much about the disease, what that meant. When the doctor told them there was no cure and that Annabelle would progressively get worse until she could no longer take care of herself, Jack knew it was time for him to fulfill the promise he had made long ago.
As Annabelle’s Alzheimer’s advanced, Jack took over duties at home and doted on her, treating her like a princess. One day he would bring her cake and ice cream and bouquets of roses as though it were her birthday, or take her to the hair salon even when her hair didn’t need styling. Other days he would drive her into the mountains to pick apples in Julian or walk her on the beach. One day he took her to Ocean Beach to show her where he proposed. They sat down on the sand in the very spot where Jack poured out his heart to her. At that moment a dull mist broke over the watery horizon, blossoming in shades of cornflower blue, soft lavender and a pale sea green. A breeze blew past them as waves crashed on the shore, accompanied by graceful seagulls singing to the wind.
“Do you remember this place, Annabelle?” he asked.
She stared at him, not quite understanding the question. “It’s a nice place. I like it here.”
Overhead a troupe of seagulls soared out of the stillness, swooping above them, heading out to sea. The birds caught Annabelle’s momentary attention.
“Annabelle?” She looked back at him.
“Do you remember what happened here 65 years ago?” he asked again.
She knitted her brows, thinking. At last, she shook her head.
Jack felt a twinge in his gut. “I proposed to you here, honey. You don’t remember that?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said, blinking and staring at him.
He knew at that moment that the disease was taking her away from him, faster than he expected. Time was running out, for both of them. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. He never understood heartbreak, but he did now. From that day onward Jack began to grieve in silence as though she had already died, yet never let her know and never let her see the wrenching pain that was consuming him piece by piece. As she entered the more severe phase of the disease friends and family began suggesting he put her in a nursing home. He was getting old himself and the difficulties of full time caregiving was taking their toll on him. His muscles often ached; his back throbbed with dull, pervasive pain. Exhaustion consumed him. Between cooking, cleaning, laundry and the extensive effort it took to care for Annabelle’s every need, he often succumbed to whatever virus was making the rounds. Although sick he refused to stay in bed; he had too much to do. One day his daughter knocked on the door and insisted they have a talk.
“You can’t keep doing this, Dad,” Mary Ellen insisted. “You’re going to kill yourself and then what good will you be to Mom?” She leaned over and hugged Jack. For the first time she could feel how frail he had become. Always a strong and stalwart man who cut a muscular figure, now he resembled a silhouette of his former self.
“What choice do I have, sweetheart?” he responded. “Someone has to do it. I have to do it.”
“No, you don’t, Dad. We can put her in a nursing home, where she will get full time care.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I could never do that to your mother. Why, during the war----”
“Dad, I know about the war, which was different. Besides, you were put in Balboa when you came back. You had full time care, just like Mom needs now. You’re going to have a heart attack or a stroke. Please, I know I’m going to lose Mom. I don’t want to lose you at the same time.” She reached down and gave his hand a squeeze. “Please? Will you consider it?”
Jack nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
And think he did, long and hard. His daughter’s words that he might die continuing to care for Annabelle alone struck him hard. The idea of dying before Annabelle and leaving the burden of caring for Annabelle to Mary Ellen grated on him. He thought about it for a few days, then called his daughter and agreed to place Annabelle in a nursing home that Mary Ellen found not far from their home. He all but moved in with Annabelle, spending his days and evenings at her bedside until the nurses would make him go home. He couldn’t sleep at home knowing she was alone and would return at daybreak. For the first few months she asked him what she was doing there and why he would put her in a place like that.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” she asked one day.
“Of course I do, why do you ask?”
“Jack, if you loved me, you would take me home, not make me live in a place like this! A sorry husband you turned out to be.”
Annabelle might as well have stabbed him in the gut. The social worker had told him to expect comments like this and that he had to be strong and ignore them. “It’s not Annabelle,” the social worker said. “It’s the disease talking.” Jack tried to remember what the social worker said. It was hard though as Annabelle’s spiteful comments increased. It was an Annabelle he didn’t know. Her words seared as hot as the shrapnel that burned into his body at the war’s end.
One day Jack walked into her room to find her sitting up in bed, looking sprite and as lucid as she was before the disease took over her mind and body. Her eyes sparkled with clarity. He bent down to kiss her; she responded with fervor, reminiscent of their early days together. His old Annabelle was back.
“Jack, sit down, I need to tell you something important.” She patted the side of her bed. Jack sat and waited. “Honey, I know my brain’s not right. Some days I can’t remember anything and I know it’s getting worse.”
Jack nodded and held her stare.
“One of these days I won’t recognize you or Mary Ellen or Vinny or the grandkids. Even though I won’t know it, my soul will. I can’t bear the thought of it,” she said, a breath above a whisper, a quiver in her voice.
Jack nodded again, unable to speak for fear of letting go a torrent of tears.
“Jack, I don’t want to live like that. I would never allow you to live that way, if it was you in this bed. It isn’t living. Well, I suppose it is, but it’s more like a living hell.”
“What choice do we have, Annabelle?” he asked, not sure what she was trying to say.
Annabelle took in a large breath of air and let it out slow and measured. She gazed straight at Jack, an icy calm to her voice. “I want you to kill me when I get bad. Put me out of my misery, just as we put all our dogs to sleep when they got old.”
Jack’s jaw dropped open. “You’re not a dog, Annabelle!” Jack protested. “I couldn’t put you to sleep.”
“Jack, I know that I’m asking the most difficult thing I’ve ever asked of you. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. That is when I can think. I can’t ask this of anyone else. Please don’t allow me to live like a vegetable. Don’t let them put tubes in me to extend my life. Let me go, help me leave this earth with dignity. Please, Jack?” She reached over and squeezed his hand.
That did it. Tears sprang to Jack’s eyes. He turned his head to shade her from his grief. She reached over and took him into her arms. She held him and let him cry until he could cry no more. He sat back and looked at her, and held her face in his hands.
“Oh, Annabelle, I love you more than life itself. How can I let you go? How can I do what you’re asking of me? I don’t want you to suffer, but I don’t think I have the courage to do it.”
“My dear sweet soldier, yes, you do,” she responded, running her hands over the sides of his face and cupping it in her hands. “When the day comes that I am not myself, when the Annabelle you have loved these many years is gone, you will have the strength. You will find it. I believe in you, Jack.”
