Remembering
When my mother died of early onset Alzheimer’s Disease in 1988, it took me over 20 years to be able to remember her as she really was. During her final years, I had created a psychological barrier between that person who was Anna with Alzheimer’s and the person who had been my mother. It was a powerful but ultimately destructive defense mechanism.
When my wonderful husband, Don Hart, began to show signs of cognitive decline, I vowed, I would not do the same to myself a second time. I would make myself remember him as he really was, my wonderful friend, confidante, lover, husband. I knew that it would be hard—and it is—but I also knew that over time it was the right decision.
Over the last two years, one of the activities that has been a shared enjoyment is that I read to Don in the evenings. We have read wonderfully humorous books (Andy Borowitz’s Profiles in Ignorance), modern social history (Isabel Wilkerson’s Caste and Sarah Wynn-Williams’ Careless People), books on the middle east (Aziz Abu Sarah and Maoz Inon’s The Future is Peace) and books on higher education (Lee Bollinger’s University: A Reckoning). And then I remembered a much more powerful and personal source for our evening readings.
In 1969-1970, Don and I were finishing up undergraduate degrees at universities 616 miles apart (he at University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa where he had returned after 6 years in the Navy to complete a degree in Philosophy and me at Duke University where I was completing my B.A. in English). We wrote each other almost every day; some days, twice a day. We kept them all.
I went down to the storage unit and found that amazing box of memories, brought them back up to the apartment and began reading the letters, alternating between Don’s letters and mine. And there he was – in his words and in my reflections of his amazing self. His letters were filled with love and philosophical ruminations on everything, frustration with the direction of the country—not just the politicians but the protesters as well. His writing was beautiful and oh my God, he loved me.
We are currently into the second semester, winter of 1970. We had survived the separation and the almost visceral rejection of our relationship from our families, especially our mothers. We were seeing our way to living near one another, not yet even imagining living with each other, but already hinting at marriage on both sides. It was a difficult time, a complicated courtship, but ultimately the foundation for a remarkable life, marred only by Don’s struggles here at the end of his life.
The process has led me to the conclusion about what will be my next major writing project. I will use a process somewhat similar to the one I used in my first memoir, Experience is the Angled Road. But this time the letters will not just be artifacts of the time in which they were written but the words and emotions will be seen through the prism of the 56 years of our marriage.
The letters, the reading of the letters, the process of writing the next book will make it impossible for me to erase him as I had erased my mother. I know that in many ways it will make my current life harder because I cry a lot of the time these days. I rarely cried in my mother’s last 3 years. But afterwards, I will never have to wait for him to come back to me because he will never have left.
Bobby, your comments here resonate deeply with me. After my stepdad died, my mom became depressed and her depression grew into cognitive decline and Alzheiemer’s. I travelled the road you described so beautifully in this post. She died several years ago but I am still struggling to remember her as the vibrant, sharp, funny, and warm human being she was until the disease robbed her of all of that. I’m continuing to work on recovering those memories from the “before times.”
Thanks so much, Ben. Work hard at that. It will be important to you to have her back. The story you shared about her in an earlier email was marvelous. Remember that as well.
Thanks so much for doing this not only because it keeps you and your relationship alive but because it keeps Don alive in our memories.
Thanks, Mark. I know how much you remember Don as he was (and in some ways still is) . Your love and support mean the world to me.
I am crying with you now Bobby – you express so eloquently the depths of love and commitment. How wonderful to have those letters – your mention of them brings back the memories I have of you and Don way back when and I’m smiling now.
Dear dear Wendy, thanks for your kind response. Much love.
Lovely, Bobby!
Thanks. I know that there is much that resonates with you. Thinking of you.
you have had a life full of love…which has made you the beautiful shinning person you are…
Thank you so much, Jocey! It is a hard time but there were so many beautiful moments in the 56 years preceding. Hope you are well.
Thank you, dear Bobby, for this beautiful small memoir. My reaction is too long and too personal to post here …I’ve put it in an email. I send love.
Thank you for posting here but thank you even more for the beautiful email you sent. Much love