And as the tears started to fall, the word came back to me again:... Alzheimer's... It isa barren disease, as empty and lifeless as a desert. It is a thief of hearts and souls andmemories. I did not know what to say to her as she sobbed on my bosom, so I simplyheld her and rocked her back and forth.
The doctor was grim. He was a good man, and this was hard for him. He was youngerthan my youngest, and I felt my age in his presence. My mind was confused, my lovewas shaking, and the only thing I could think was: No drowning man can know whichdrop of water his last breath did stop;... A wise poet's words, yet they brought me nocomfort. I don't know what they meant or why I thought of them.
We rocked* to and from*, and Allie, my dream, my timeless beauty, told me she wassorry. I knew there was nothing to forgive, and I whispered in her ear. "Everythingwill be fine," I whispered, but inside I was afraid. I was a hollow man with nothing tooffer, empty as a junked stovepipe.
I remember only bits and pieces of Dr. Barnwell's continuing explanation. "It's adegenerative brain disorder affecting memory and personality . . . there is nocure or therapy .... There's no way to tell how fast it will progress.., it differsfrom person to person ....I wish I knew more .... Some days will be better thanothers It will grow worse with the pas‐sage of time I'm sorry to be the one whohas to tell you " I'm sorry...
I'm
sorry...
I'm sorry...
Everyone was sorry. My children were brokenhearted, my friends were scared forthemselves.
I don't remember leaving the doctor's office, and I don't remember driving home.
My memories of that day are gone, and in this my wife and I are the same.
It has been four years now. Since then we have made the best of it, if that is possible.
Allie organized, as was her disposition. She made arrangements to leave the houseand move here. She rewrote her will and sealed it. She left specific burial instructions,and they sit in my desk, in the bottom drawer. I have not seen them. And when shewas finished, she began to write. Letters to friends and children. Letters to brothersand sisters and cousins. Letters to nieces, nephews, and neighbors. And a letter tome.
I read it sometimes when I am in the mood, and when I do, I am reminded of Allie oncold winter evenings, seated by a roaring fire with a glass of wine at her side, readingthe letters I had written to her over the years. She kept them, these letters, and nowI keep them, for she made me promise to do so. She said I would know what to dowith them. She was right; I find I enjoy reading bits and pieces of them just as sheused to. They intrigue me, these letters, for when I sift through them I realize thatromance and passion are possible at any age. I see Allie now and know I've neverloved her more, but as I read the letters, I come to understand that I have always feltthe same way.
I read them last three evenings ago, long after I should have been asleep. It wasalmost two o'clock when I went to the desk and found the stack of letters, thick andtall and weathered. I untied the ribbon, itself almost half a century old, and found theletters her mother had hidden so long ago and those from afterward. A lifetime ofletters, letters professing my love, letters from my heart. I glanced through themwith a smile on my face, picking and choosing, and finally opened a letter from ourfirst anniversary.
I read an excerpt:
When I see you now‐‐moving slowly with new life growing inside you‐‐I hope youknow how much you mean to me, and how special this year has been. No man is moreblessed than me, and I love you with all my heart.
I put it aside, sifted through the stack, and found another, this from a cold eveningthirty‐nine years ago.
Sitting next to you, while our youngest daughter sang off‐key in the school Christmasshow, I looked at you and saw a pride that comes only to those who feel deeply intheir hearts, and I knew that no man could be more lucky than me. And after our sondied, the one who resembled his mother . . . It was the hardest time we ever wentthrough, and the words still ring true today:
In times of grief and sorrow ! will hold you and rock you, and take your grief and makeit my own. When you cry, I cry, and when you hurt, I hurt. And together we will try tohold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed streetsof life.
I pause for just a moment, remembering him. He was four years old at the time, justa baby. I have lived twenty times as long as he, but if asked, I would have traded mylife for his. It is a terrible thing to outlive your child, a tragedy I wish upon no one.
I do my best to keep the tears away, sift through some more to clear my mind, andfind the next from our twentieth anniversary, something much easier to think about:When ! see you, my darling, in the morning before showers or in your studio coveredwith paint with hair matted and tired eyes, I know that you are the most beautifulwoman in the world.
They went on, this correspondence of life and love, and I read dozens more, somepainful, most heartwarming. By three o'clock I was tired, but I had reached thebottom of the stack. There was one letter remaining, the last one I wrote her, and bythen I knew I had to keep going.
I lifted the seal and removed both pages. I put the second page aside and moved thefirst page into better light and began to read:
My dearest Allie, The porch is silent except for the sounds that float from theshadows, and for once I am at a loss for words. It is a strange experience for me, forwhen I think of you and the life we have shared, there is much to remember. Alifetime of memories.
But to put it into words? I do not know if I am able. I am not a poet, and yet a poemis needed to fully express the way I feel about you.
So my mind drifts, and I remember thinking about our life together as I made coffeethis morning. Kate was there, and so was Jane, and they both became quiet when Iwalked in the kitchen. I saw they'd been crying, and without a word, I sat myselfbeside them at the table and held their hands. And do you know what I saw when Ilooked at them? I saw you from so long ago, the day we said good‐bye. They
resemble you and how you were then, beautiful and sensitive and wounded withthe hurt that comes when something special is taken away. And for a reason I'm notsure I understand, I was inspired to tell them a story.
I called Jeff and David into the kitchen, for they were here as well, and when thechildren were ready, I told them about us and how you came back to me so long ago.
I told them about our walk, and the crab dinner in the kitchen, and they listened withsmiles when they heard about the canoe ride, and sitting in front of the fire with thestorm raging outside. I told them about your mother warning us about Lon the nextday‐‐they seemed as surprised as we were‐‐and yes, I even told them what happenedlater that day, after you went back to town.
That part of the story has never left me, even after all this time. Even though I wasn'tthere, you described it to me only once, and I remember marveling at the strengthyou showed that day. I still cannot imagine what was going through your mind whenyou walked into the lobby and saw Lon, or how it must have felt to talk to him. Youtold me that the two of you left the inn and sat on a bench by the old Methodistchurch, and that he held your hand, even as you explained that you must stay.
I know you cared for him. And his reaction proves to me he cared for you as well. No,he could not understand losing you, but how could he? Even as you explained thatyou had always loved me, and that it wouldn't be fair to him, he did not release yourhand. I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change yourmind, but when you stood firm and *sack, "I can't go back with you, I'm so sorry," heknew that your decision had been made. You said he simply nodded and the two ofyou sat together for a long time without speaking. I have always wondered what hewas thinking as he sat with you, but I'm sure it was the same way I felt only a fewhours before. And when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that Iwas a lucky man. He behaved as a gentleman would, and I understood then why yourchoice was so hard.
I remember that when I finished the story, the room was quiet until Kate finally stoodto embrace me.
"Oh,Daddy," she said with tears in her eyes, and though I expected to answer theirquestions,they did not ask any. Instead, they gave me something much more special.
For the next four hours, each of them told me how much we, the two of us, hadmeant to them growing up. One by one, they told stories about things ! had long sinceforgotten.
And by the end, I was crying because I realized how well we had done with raisingthem. I was so proud of them, and proud of you, and happy about the life we haveled. And nothing will ever take that away. Nothing. I only wish you would have beenhere to enjoy it with me.
After they left, I rocked in silence, thinking back on our life together. You are alwayshere with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me toremember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would havebecome had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I wouldhave lived and died with regrets that thankfully I'll never know.
I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, andevery dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, every daywe are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah I put the pages aside and remember sitting with Allie on our porch when sheread this letter for the first time. It was late afternoon, with red streaks cutting thesummer sky, and the last remnants of the day were fading. The sky was slowlychanging color, and as I was watching the sun go down, I remember thinking aboutthat brief, flickering moment when day suddenly turns into night.
Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon orbelow it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are;there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. Howwould it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?
