Alzheimers

“You’re name is Dorothy Hill. You are 81 and you live in Sussex. You were married to James Hill and your wedding was in 1952 on the 15th of April. You have 1 son, 2 daughters and 7 grandchildren. It might be quite difficult for you to remember all of this because you suffer from a disease that attacks the mind of many elderly people. You have Alzheimer’s. It is incurable but you are not alone. Your family are always by your side and they are helping you through this. You’ve got to try your hardest not to forget.”

I write in this diary so that I can remember who I am, where I am, what year it is, that I have a husband, children and grandchildren. I’m a problem patient who finds myself continuously travelling through my past, willingly or not. Some mornings I wake up having forgotten the past 60 years of my life, believing that my family is still alive, not knowing who the person lying beside me is. It’s frightening, lonely and frustrating. I have good days and bad days. Days when I can be normal, when I can be with my husband, when I don’t forget anything. But there are days when I can barely remember my own name let alone the names of my grandchildren. Apparently the doctors told me it is the short-term memory that goes first, or went first. I find it more and more difficult to remember what I was doing two minutes ago, why I have walked into a certain room and who I was supposed to be talking to.
I have recently discovered that memories are the most sacred things that a person must learn to cherish because you never know when they might start running out. The memory that fills my heart with happiness and love is the memory that I fear losing the most. It occupies my thoughts for most of the day and night, running continuously in my mind like an old film. I constantly remind myself of the smell, the noise, the people from that day, hoping and praying with all my might that unlike my other thoughts it won’t slowly vanish and desert me. It is the day that I met the gentle man who has made my life complete. When we are both gone from this world I know that we will be together in the next. It was fate that bought us together.
It was a hot and sticky July day, one of the hottest days of the year and I had been visiting my grandmother in London for the previous week. To be quite frank I remember being extremely happy about returning to the country after the hustle and bustle of the city. I was a shy and polite girl of nineteen who tended to be greatly admired by many men. But I was also stubborn and to the upset of my grandmother, refused to court anyone that I couldn’t see myself loving. The many handsome London bachelors that she introduced me to over the week were too snobby for my liking. Shockingly and ironically I can still remember the dress I was wearing on that summers day. It was a light, flowing and peachy dress that was especially comfortable for the somewhat long train journey back to Cornwall. I stood momentarily outside the station, basking in the rays of sunlight that warmed my face, enjoying my final minutes in London before the journey home. As I carried my old brown suitcase over the brown uneven cobbles I was completely in my own world, filled of thoughts of home, the countryside and my own bed. I made my way into the busy station, still not concentrating when all of a sudden a rather rushed man walked straight into my suitcase, which, to my horror, sprung open spilling the contents all over the floor. I fell bashfully to my knees gathering up my dresses and garments before they were trodden upon.
An apologetic voice rang out over me and a pair of hands began to frantically scramble at my clothes, supposedly trying to help me. I could feel the rouge of my cheeks quickly turning into a scarlet blush as I closed my suitcase and stood up to face the clumsy old fool who had walked into me. His head was bowed as he passed me one of my stray handkerchiefs. I laughed coolly and placed it up my sleeve. “Thank you Sir for stopping and helping me.” I smiled in the direction of his bent head, which slowly began to straighten. I was shocked to see he was certainly not an old fool as I had expected, but a young, very handsome gentleman. He looked around 25, his eyes were deep blue and glinted with kindness. The fluff on his upper lip gave him a noble and intelligent look, and his smile when he looked at me I will never forget. It was as sweet as a young child’s and I giggled as his eyebrows rose suddenly when he saw me properly for the first time. He coughed, preparing himself to talk.
“I do apologise greatly for knocking into you in that unseemly manner Miss. I have to admit I was not looking where I was stepping.” He shook his head as if privately telling himself off. I smiled faintly at him, batting my eyelashes for good measure.
“I fear it was partly my fault as well. I was miles away.”
“That sounds nice” He replied looking around him at the hectic train station. Again I could feel my cheeks reddening. I giggled stupidly like I was a little girl again. Then, remembering that he was a complete stranger I made to grab my bags, nod at him and walk towards my train. However, he was having none of it and took my suitcase from me.
“Please, allow me to escort you to your train. It is the least I can do.” His smile was so gentle and lovely that I found it impossible to say no. How could I refuse such a handsome man to do such a kind deed? We walked slowly towards platform 6 as he talked politely to me, commenting on the weather, asking if I lived in London or was just visiting. He seemed to be a true gentleman and my heart sunk as I saw my train chug into the station.
He helped me up into the stuffy carriage and shivers were sent down my spine at the touch of his hand. He placed my suitcase in after me, closing the door firmly with a clunk. I leaned slightly out of the window to thank him again and say goodbye, but before I could do so he spoke.
“Would you consider it impertinent if I were to inquire what your name is?” He looked up at me, his eyes still soft but his face looking slightly more nervous. I bit my lip in worry; to give away my name without introduction didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Suddenly, the train started to slowly pull away and a sinking feeling entered my stomach as it started to edge away from him. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and replied “Dorothy Jones, my name is Dorothy Jones.” He smiled gratefully and began to jog alongside the slowly moving train.
“It was lovely bumping into you Dorothy Jones.” I smiled uncontrollably as he laughed and the train began to pick up speed. He continued to run alongside the train and in exchange for my name he shouted back to me his own as he stood at the edge of the platform waving.
“I’m James… James Hill!”
Two months later in September, I received a letter from a Mister James Hill saying that coincidence found him in his sister’s cottage in Devon for a month. He inquired if I would allow him to take me out for a picnic one day if he were to take the train to Cornwall. Naturally I was a little hesitant but my bubbly and energetic elder sister persuaded me into it. He was as friendly and gentleman like as the first occasion I met him. We began meeting every day and I couldn’t help but realise that there was a definite connection between us. We spent hours talking about anything and everything, the future and the past. He picked me flowers and wrote me little poems. I wished that it would last forever and before long I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
We courted for around a year, he travelling back and forth from London and eventually, one cold and wet day he asked me to marry him. Of course I couldn’t resist saying yes. We had some money saved and soon moved to Essex together to start a family. Before we knew it I was pregnant. A rather eventful pregnancy it turned out to be, with James having to deliver the baby on the kitchen table! He held the baby and I in his arms and vowed that he would always be there for us. Our children are the most beautiful things to come out of our lives and it has been such a privilege to be able to watch them grow up and have their own families and children. Without James my life wouldn’t be anywhere near as full and complete as it is. And now I am gradually letting him down. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to have the person you have spent all your life with, to whom you have given all your love, to be able to forget you without even realising it. I am letting my whole family down and there is nothing I can do to prevent it.
Only the other morning I woke up and noticed that James wasn’t next to me in our bed so I pulled on my pink fluffy dressing gown and slowly made my way down stairs. I thought perhaps James would be asleep in his chair in the living room so I crept in very quietly. I could hear unusual noises coming from his chair and I shuffled forward slowly and peered at him. His head was in his hands, his shoulders hunched and his hair scruffy as if he’d had a bad nights sleep. I perched on the arm of the chair and tentatively moved his shaking hands away from his sleep-deprived, extremely grey and pale face. His soft blue eyes were filled with tears and there was a sadness in them that I had never noticed before. I slid down next to him on the chair and put my arms around his sobbing shoulders, rocking him gently, kissing him on the head and soothing him.
“Hush. Don’t cry. Hush. It will all be fine” He wiped my fresh tears with the arm of his dressing gown and looked up at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Dorothy! I vowed I’d look after you always, but I can’t.” He clutched onto me like a child to his mother and I continued to rock him back and forth. “I love you Dorothy.” He sobbed into my chest and I could feel my heart beginning to break, I held back the tears and held him closer to me.
“I’m so glad I bumped into you James Hill… don’t you ever forget that! I love you with all my heart, you have to remember that whether I am here or whether I have moved on. I will always love you!” We sat there, embraced for what seemed like hours, until I fell asleep in his arms. But when I woke up he was gone.

Opening my eyes a harsh white light filled the room. The sheets I lay under were itchy against my skin and I looked around for James in the unusual room. I couldn’t see him anywhere. A lady in white stood in the corner of the room, looking at me with a concerned expression on her face.
“Mrs Hill, you are in hospital. You recently had a fall and knocked yourself out. I’m Nurse Christy and I’ll be looking after you while you’re in here for observation and I’m a specialist in Alzheimer’s, so I should be able to help you.” She smiled patiently, whilst she fiddled with my charts.
“Where’s James? My husband.” I asked her and she gave me a look of such pity, like I had never seen before. She slowly walked forward and placed her hand on mine.
“Mrs Hill. Your husband died 5 years ago in a car accident. I’m sorry.”