In earlier blogs, I noted that in June 1963, God inspired Linda and me to establish a framework for our life together. When encroaching Alzheimer’s tempted me to believe that those dreams had been forever ripped apart, I struggled to answer, without Linda’s input, an overwhelming question: What now? The answer became clear on Christmas day 2018. She had been a resident at Legacy Village for three months, and I was swirling in a sea of conflicting emotions. With her understanding of the true meaning of Christ’s birth and her creative decorating skills, Linda had always made this day special, and, in an unexpected way, she once again delivered. At different times, for two days, the family brought her gifts and expressed their love. Despite her confusion, she had thoroughly enjoyed it all. After everyone left, I stayed. Sitting in her chair and looking toward the window, with a pleasant expression on her face, she said: “This is a nice place; I like it here.” Then, as I was preparing to go, she reached up and kissed me. As always, my heart melted. What a wonderful gift!

Later, I drove up to Knoxville and enjoyed the evening with Linda’s oldest brother and his family. After returning home, in the early morning hours, I outlined my answer to, “What now?”

• I must never again expect Linda to be able to meet any of my needs, as she has in the past.
• My joy must be in ministering to her and savoring those wonderful moments when she recognizes me and gives me an unexpected gift, such as she did today.
• I must survive and thrive as a model for others to follow, especially my children and grandchildren. In order to do this, I must take care of myself spiritually, emotionally and physically.
• I must constantly remember to focus on Linda’s gain, not my loss.

Have I managed to do this perfectly? No! There are days when my heart screams for the life that I once had; however, I am pleased that I am haltingly moving toward Paul’s ideal:

No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us  (Philippians 3:13-14 NLT).

The picture accompanying today’s blog is somewhat paradoxical for two reasons: First, with advancing Alzheimer’s, Linda’s beautiful smile, still frequently seen, is usually far more subdued. On this occasion, one day last week, Linda was a bit uncertain as to whether she wanted Santa near; however, her beloved Activities Director stood behind the photographer and coerced that wonderful response. Secondly, approximately ten feet from where Linda is sitting, a fireplace with a creche on the hearth speaks to the real story of Christmas. During our daily walks, we always pause, and as I identify each character, she nods approvingly, especially for the newborn Jesus.

Haltingly moving toward Paul’s ideal has many twists and turns along the way. With gentle cajoling and loving encouragement from my family, for the first time in four Christmas seasons, I was emboldened to take another step forward. Three weeks ago, Melinda put a lighted wreath on my front door, a centerpiece on my table and a three-foot tree, decorated with miniature cars instead of elaborate ornaments, on my sideboard. Even though our traditional family meal did not go as planned, it made Christmas so joyful for me. Due to delayed recovery from surgery, Michael was unable to come, and Stephanie’s family was struggling with COVID. Nevertheless, unwilling to throw in the towel, Melinda and Cory cooked a wonderful meal. With the house filled with the sounds and smells of Christmas, my feelings ran the gamut. Celebrating with my family brought back so many memories. At the same time, it created within me a resolve to treasure that which Linda and I have together and a determination for me to continue it after her homegoing.

Family visits have now drastically changed. Sometimes there is a glint of recognition; however, for the most part, family members just receive a smile and the politeness she shows to everyone else. Thankfully, I am still the exception. Our daily visits usually follow a pattern. I greet her with, “Hello Beautiful.” She smiles, reaches for my hand and, with an occasional brief interruption for a short walk, holds it, often gently rubbing my arm with her other hand. Having these few minutes with her each day is so rewarding. Conversely, I look forward to her never again being confused or seeing that helpless look in her eyes when she tries to tell me something and the words will not form. Jesus, help me!