A Vow to Cherish by Deborah Raney

increasingly her conversations had become erratic and bizarre.
    “Is that their names? Rob and Cathy?”
    “Yes, honey. You know that. Rob and Cathy McLaughlin. We’ve known them since the kids were babies.” He bit his lower lip. He wasn’t sure he was up for socializing, especially if Ellen was in one of her less lucid states.
    “I’ll get my coat.” The phone went silent and he guessed that she was already headed for the hall closet. He wondered if she would remember what she was looking for by the time she got there.
     
    Almost comically, John started finding things in the strangest places. A pencil in the toothbrush holder, a slice of toast in the desk drawer by the telephone and a stick of butter—thankfully still in its wrapper—in his sock drawer. He had to laugh at that one. Even Ellen had seen the humor in it, though she was angry when she heard him laugh with Brant about it on the phone.
    They hadn’t yet told the kids about the diagnosis. “I don’t want them worrying,” Ellen had told John the last time he broached the subject. John had to respect her wishes, but he knew that the children were worried and puzzled by the changes they saw in their mother. They had caught her in some of her silly mistakes.
    “Maybe they got a little carried away with those highlights in your hair, Mom,” Kyle had said when Ellen had put ketchup on the table with the pancakes one morning when he was home for the weekend.
    “Huh? What are you talking about, Kyle?”
    “A little too much blond in the mix, maybe? Get it?” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows Groucho Marx style.
    “Oh, Kyle, stop.” Ellen smiled, but John sensed the tears were threatening.
    John pulled Kyle aside later. “Hey, bud, go easy on Mom, okay? She…she’s got a lot on her mind right now.”
    “Hey, I was only kidding.”
    “I know, but…just take it easy. She’s a little emotional right now.”
    “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” Kyle shrugged and looked at John as though he was the one losing it.
    He tried to prepare Brant and Jana for the news, too, dropping little hints about Ellen not feeling well, and having a lot on her plate. But they were busy with their own lives, and he wasn’t sure they caught the concern in his voice.
    There were brief intermissions—sometimes lasting for days or even weeks—when Ellen seemed to be her old self. During those times, John found himself hoping it had all been a terrible mistake. Maybe the doctors were wrong. Maybe this was something else. Maybe it was all a terrible mix-up and she was getting well after all.
    It amazed him that he could be so devastated when the symptoms returned. It was like finding out about the Alzheimer’s all over again. He almost wished those little remissions wouldn’t occur, because the telltale warnings always came back, and when they did, they seemed worse than before, usually bringing some new loss of memory or function.
    Sometimes she just lost words. She would be talking along making perfect sense, when suddenly she would stop midsentence, unable to think of the next word she wanted to say. Often, John could supply it for her. They’d always finished each other’s sentences. But more and more she lost words that he couldn’t find for her. And she would become agitated when he reeled off a multiple-choice list.
    Unfortunately, the answer was often “none of the above.” Occasionally, if he was patient and allowed her to concentrate, she could dredge up the word. But most times she would wave him away, leaving the thought unfinished and both of them feeling frustrated.
    More disturbing, John noticed that she had begun to use completely nonsensical words. Sometimes she was aware that what she said hadn’t made a whit of sense, and she could backtrack and find the right word, the right phrase. But most of the time she seemed unaware that she had spoken amiss. If it hadn’t been so tragic, it might have been comical.
    One October evening, while she and John were