A Vow to Cherish (7 page)

“N
o, John! Please. I’m begging you. I don’t want them to worry about me!” Ellen’s voice rose an octave and she kneaded the linen placemat underneath her dinner plate.

“They’re already worried, Ellen. I’m sorry. But I don’t think we should put this off one more day. It’s time the kids were told what’s going on.” John had agreed to hold off as long as they could, but in the months since Ellen had been diagnosed, her children had become all too aware that something was wrong, and had been for a long time.

She looked up at John, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want to spend the time I have left with them watching me…waiting for me to do something stupid—just waiting for me to go crazy.”

“You think it’s better for them to wonder why you’re…behaving the way you are? I’m sorry, but that’s not fair. Not to them or to you.”

“Or to
you,
you mean.” Now anger tinged her voice.

He wasn’t sure how to field that one. Yes, he wanted to get things out in the open and get it over with. And maybe it was for his own sake. It had been agony trying to keep up appearances for the kids, being careful not to slip up and say something that would give away Ellen’s secret—
their
secret.

“Please, John, just let me wait until they’re all home for Christmas. We…we can tell them then—after the holidays are over. But let me have one last
normal
Thanksgiving and Christmas. Please…”

He’d finally relented, but Thanksgiving was anything but normal. Ellen had been withdrawn and irritable from the moment the kids stepped through the front door. After a subdued dinner, Mark and Jana left early in the evening and the boys had decided to drive back to school Saturday morning, claiming they had papers to write before Monday morning. Worst of all, Ellen seemed not to mind—or realize—that she’d chased everyone off.

The following week, Dr. Morton started Ellen on a new medication, and by mid-December John thought maybe it was doing some good. But then the boys came home for Christmas and Ellen sank into a depression, taking to her bed most of the time, and she was distant and short-tempered with everyone when she was awake.

John made a wide berth for her, keeping Brant and Kyle occupied decorating for Christmas. It was a Brighton tradition, since they’d moved into the big Miles house, to outline the roof, doors and windows with white lights. He’d waited until the boys were home to help him; he certainly didn’t want Ellen on the roof. Now, perched precariously on the roof with his sons feeding him strings of lights, John was grateful for the warmer-than-usual December weather and the absence of ice or snow.

It was late in the season to be putting up lights, but he couldn’t bear to not put them up at all. When the lights were all in place, the Brighton men put the tree up in the living room and hung five stockings on the mantel. Ellen was up, though still in her bathrobe. She shouted suggestions from the kitchen but left the decorating to them.

The rest of the days leading to Christmas were spent playing basketball at the high school gym and watching football on TV.

Jana and Mark came from Chicago two days before Christmas. They hadn’t been there an hour before Jana cornered John in the kitchen.

She looked around at the empty countertops. “Dad? Mom hasn’t done any baking yet? I was going to help, but I checked the cupboards and there’s not even enough flour or sugar to make cookies, let alone all the other stuff for Christmas dinner.”

He looked at the floor. “Your mom has…she’s been a little under the weather lately.” It was true, but he felt like a liar. “We’ll go shopping this afternoon.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Okay. Well, let me know what I can do.”

“Thanks, honey.”

He escaped to the den to try to make a grocery list. He wrote down flour and sugar, then realized that he hadn’t a clue what else they would need for the dinner. He prayed Ellen would be coherent enough to fill in the blanks while they were at the store.

She came along with him agreeably and was actually pleasant company, though not very helpful. He bought cranberries for his favorite sauce…a dish Ellen had made for him every year of their married life. He doubted now that she could remember how to make it. Oh, well. Howard and MaryEllen were arriving on Christmas Eve. Maybe MaryEllen could be persuaded to prepare the sauce. It didn’t matter anymore, really.

They finished their shopping, and drove home. John carried the groceries into the kitchen, setting the heavy bags on the countertop. Ellen made no move to put things away, so John enlisted Mark and Jana to do the job while he hunted for the recipes and assembled the ingredients for the dishes that needed to be started early.

Jana tried to catch his eye several times, but he avoided her and pretended not to see her questioning glances. It was so out of character for him to be supervising the kitchen. He knew Jana must be terribly confused and worried.

“Are you feeling okay, Mom?” Jana put a hand on her mother’s arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look tired.”

“I’m just fine.”

It was obvious that Ellen’s terse reply only served to worry Jana more.

For the rest of the afternoon Ellen hovered in the kitchen, but she seemed content to let Jana and John do most of the cooking and cleaning. She was cranky and short with both of them. John could see that Jana’s feelings were hurt.

His daughter disappeared, and twenty minutes later, he discovered her in tears in the downstairs bedroom that had been hers as a teenager. Looking at Jana’s tearstained face, John decided they couldn’t wait another minute to get things out in the open.

He put an arm around Jana’s shoulders. “We need to talk. I’m going to go talk to your mom. Get Mark and your brothers and meet us in the living room in a few minutes.”

She looked up at him, confusion deepening the furrows in her forehead, but she slid off the bed and left the room.

John went to find Ellen. She was in the kitchen, standing in front of the open cupboard doors with a blank look on her face. “We need to talk to the kids, Ellen. Now.”

She whirled to face him. “No! No, John. You promised. Not until after. I don’t want to ruin everybody’s Christmas,” she snarled between clenched teeth.

“El, everybody’s Christmas is already being ruined by the way you are acting. You’re just putting off the inevitable. Either you tell them or I will.” He knew it was cruel, but it was the truth, and she needed to hear it.

Uncharacteristically she sulked. But finally she acquiesced, and John led her out to the living room where they were waiting.

Ellen sat beside him on the sofa, silent and sheepish.

John took her hand and drew a deep breath. “I know you kids are aware that something has been going on here for a while that we haven’t let you in on. I’m sorry for the worry it has caused you, but we…Mom…didn’t want to worry you any sooner than we had to. We’re not ready to tell this to anyone else, but…well, it’s time you know the truth. We’ll tell Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”

The stark fear on their faces made him wish he had never opened his mouth. He despised having to tell his precious children this news! At this moment he suddenly understood more clearly the reservations Ellen had about revealing her illness. He paused and sighed heavily, gathering his courage. “We found out a few months ago that the doctors think Mom has Alzheimer’s disease. You’ve heard of that?”

Kyle was hesitant. “Alzheimer’s? I thought…I thought that was like being senile…like old people get. I think that’s what Travis Manderlee’s grandma has. But she’s wacko.” He circled a finger beside his ear, the universal sign for crazy.

“Well, Alzheimer’s is sort of like senility, Kyle. Except you don’t necessarily have to be old to get it.”

“Mom’s not crazy!”

“No, of course not.” John went on to explain everything they’d learned over the past months. It was a tearful meeting, and John knew from his own experience that it would take a while for the import of what he’d told the kids to soak in. He and Ellen were just beginning to accept what was happening to them, and they’d had months to get used to the idea.

It turned out to be a week of special closeness for the family. John and Ellen together told her parents the next day, and while Howard and MaryEllen were stunned, they had known something was wrong. They put up a strong front for Ellen’s sake, and she seemed comforted by their presence and relieved to have the burden of secrecy lifted.

The kids were refreshingly open and candid about everything. Jana went straight to the library and checked out a stack of books on Alzheimer’s. She brought them home and plopped them ceremoniously in the middle of the dining room table. All evening long, she and the boys pored over them, reading paragraphs aloud and grilling their parents about the symptoms Ellen had experienced so far. Brant searched the Internet and found more up-to-date information.

The three of them were like detectives hot on the trail of solving a mystery. Somehow, they were even able to find humor in the sorrow.

“Maybe you should just dye your hair blond, Mom,” Brant teased. “Then you’d have a built-in excuse to act ditzy.”

“Hey, buddy, you might just be on to something there.” Ellen affected a goofy grin.

They all laughed, and the laughter was a profound comfort, but John knew they each had their moments of private anguish.

Kyle, especially, seemed to be somewhat in denial. He would read about a particular symptom and say, “You’ve never done that, Mom. Maybe the doctors are wrong. All these books say they really can’t know for sure if it’s Alzheimer’s. Maybe they’re wrong about you!”

“Honey, I think I
have
done that. Ask Dad.”

John would confirm it, and Kyle would go to the books again, looking for nonexistent proof that this was all a horrible mistake.

John wished he could muster the hope and optimism his son seemed to have. And he wanted to weep for the inevitable day when Kyle’s hope would be destroyed.

E
llen sat at the kitchen table across from Kyle and saw the pain that darkened her youngest son’s eyes. She longed to see a glimpse of the carefree, mischievous boy who had brightened this house only a few months ago. But the boy was becoming a man. Ellen’s heart ached for him.
Oh, this boy…this boy of mine. He’s trying so hard. Why do I have to hurt him like this? Why? My little boy. Sometimes I can’t even remember his name. But I know he’s mine…and he’s trying so hard…so hard.
The thoughts roiled disjointedly in her mind, as all her thoughts seemed to do now.

As if no time had passed, suddenly the Christmas vacation was almost over. Ellen tried to replay the holiday events in her mind and found her memories void.

The day before the boys were to go back to school, Ellen looked out the living room window onto the wide driveway. Kyle was on the concrete, wearing only shorts and a sweatshirt in spite of the cold. He stood under the basketball hoop that John had erected when the boys were just learning to play. He was smashing the ball into the net, hooking the rebound and smashing it up again with all his strength. From his reddened face and clenched jaw, Ellen knew he was furious. She started out the door and then thought better of it. Best to let him get it out of his system. Maybe this was his way of working out his anger.

And sure enough, Kyle came in an hour later with a new peacefulness about him. He was so sweet with Ellen that it made her heart ache. But it was also a healing balm for her spirit.

When the boys pulled out of the driveway in Brant’s car on Sunday night, she lifted a hand in farewell. They all knew now. And they still loved her. They were still a family. She could quit hiding this terrible secret.

She realized and accepted that nothing had really changed: she was no less forgetful, her thoughts no less chaotic, her actions no less awkward. But her children’s love had transformed her. Tranquility laved over her and a renewed sense of self-worth buoyed her spirit.

Winter dragged on and the stark outline of the leafless trees on Oaklawn seemed to reflect John’s mood.

But one Saturday in February, the sun shone all day and the temperature reached a record-setting sixty-seven degrees. John felt his spirits rise with the mercury, especially when Ellen suggested on the spur of the moment that they invite her closest friend, Sandra, to have dinner with them.

“I’ve been wanting to try a new recipe I saw,” she told John.

“Why don’t we just put something on the grill,” he offered, knowing that Ellen would most likely not be up to cooking when the time came to actually do so. She’d always tended to bite off more than she could chew, and her illness had only intensified that trait.

Ellen and Sandra had been friends since they’d taught together during Ellen’s first year at Calypso Elementary. Sandra Brenner’s husband had left her after six years of marriage, leaving her with two small daughters to raise. Her girls were grown and married now. One a lawyer and the other a nurse, they were a walking testimony to the sacrifices their mother had made for them. Sandra had made the best of a difficult situation and John had always admired the courage and tenacity that were so incongruous to her petite, pixielike appearance. She was frank, and she could be brash, but those qualities had served her well. John couldn’t help liking her.

He was turning burgers on the grill in the backyard when Sandra came out on the deck. John could see Ellen through the kitchen windows chopping vegetables for a salad.

Sandra didn’t mince words. “John, what is going on with Ellen?”

He hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Hey, if it’s none of my business, just say so, but don’t try to act like everything is hunky-dory when we both know it’s not.”

John looked through the window. Ellen was still at the counter, oblivious to their conversation. He let out his breath.

“Sandra, Ellen…she’s not ready to talk about it. It would be better for everybody if she
would
talk to you.” He paused, trying to decide how to phrase his comments in a way that didn’t betray Ellen. “Listen, I know you have a pretty good idea what’s going on, but it’s not my place to break this news. The details will have to come from Ellen. Have you asked her about it?”

“I’ve hinted. She’s not taking the bait.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s not like you to just hint around….”

She glared at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Sandra. But…” He blew out his breath in a torrent of frustration. “I think if you confront her with your suspicions, she might be willing to talk to you.”

“Yeah, if she can remember who I am.” Her tone was caustic, sarcastic, but her voice trailed off when she heard the door slam and saw Ellen come onto the deck.

“Are the…the…hamburgers…almost done, John? Everything’s ready in the kitchen.” Ellen was in a cheerful mood, oblivious to the exchange she’d interrupted.

John shrugged behind Ellen’s back, giving Sandra a “what can I say” look. He followed the women into the kitchen.

Dinner was a disaster. The first forkful nearly choked John. Ellen had salted and peppered the salad until it was inedible. He pushed it aside without comment, feeling guilty for not warning Sandra before she took a bite.

But she was saved from the salad when Ellen knocked her can of Coke over, sending a stream of the dark, fizzing liquid onto the floor. This type of thing was happening more and more frequently. The doctors had told them that Ellen would eventually lose her muscle coordination, but John thought this was more a matter of forgetting where she had set things. Usually he just cleaned things up, and they tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. In front of Sandra, the humiliation seemed magnified out of proportion. Ellen burst into tears and ran from the room.

John wiped at the sticky puddle under the table with a kitchen towel and motioned for Sandra to go to Ellen.

He cleaned up the mess, then followed the women’s voices down the hall to the bathroom. He stood outside the door and watched helplessly as Sandra ministered to his wife.

Ellen was huddled on the tile floor of the bathroom. She clumsily blotted at a dark stain on her blouse with the damp washcloth clutched in one fist.

Sandra glanced up at John before kneeling down beside Ellen on the cold tile.

He nodded his tacit permission and stepped back.

Sandra put her arm around Ellen. “What is it, Ellen? Please tell me.”

Oblivious to John, Ellen looked up into her friend’s eyes, her face a mask of despair. “I can’t even feed myself anymore, Sandra. I’m a pathetic mess.”

“Ellen, what’s wrong? What is it?” Sandra repeated. “You can tell me.”

“It’s…I have Alzheimer’s,” she choked. “Oh, Sandra, I have Alzheimer’s disease. I’m going crazy!” It was almost a scream.

As Sandra comprehended the truth of Ellen’s words—a truth John guessed she’d suspected all along—her face contorted and the tears came. Sandra wrapped her friend in a hug. “Oh, Ellen…”

Ellen’s voice rose hysterically, and her words came out in agonized sobs. “Oh, Sandra, how can John stand me like this? How long can he put up with this? I need him, Sandra. I need him. I love him.”

John’s heart lurched. He started to go to her, comfort her, but then she lashed out, turning her diatribe heavenward.

She shook her fists and raged, “God! Help me. I need help. God? Don’t do this to me. Where are You? Where? Where?”

Sandra waved John away. “Let me talk to her,” she mouthed.

He tiptoed down the hall to the den. But he left the door open, listening as his wife sobbed out her anguish.

After a while, their voices turned to an indistinguishable murmur, and when Ellen had seemingly been drained of every word, the two women appeared in the doorway of the den.

“Sandra knows everything, John. I told her everything.”

“Good,” he said, offering a weak smile. “You needed to tell someone.”

Ellen and Sandra went on down the hallway, chatting and giggling as though their little gab session had healed Ellen.

But John sat behind his desk for an hour, pondering a future he dared not imagine. It was a relief to have someone else to share this horrible burden of knowledge. Now that the kids knew, and especially now that Ellen had confided her fears in Sandra, some of the pressure was off him. He was guiltily grateful.

But there was worse to come.