The Joy of Rambling

On my EOAD (Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease) Facebook page, I read stories over and over about loved ones forgetting, changing, losing mobility, etc. They are sad stories of gradual loss. Every time I read that someone’s husband can no longer do dishes, or walk the dog, or dress himself, I understand how devastating this is, but it’s just another sign of the progression of this horrible disease. It doesn’t shock me. It’s to be expected.

• • • • • • • •

When I met Jim in the year 2000, my girls had never watched The Simpsons on TV. I had no interest in the show and in fact, had heard the story line encouraged disrespect toward parents, which I didn’t need any more of, thank you very much.

With the entrance of Jim into our lives, many things changed. We ate much less chicken for dinner (he despised it), started doing virtuous things like participating as bell-ringers for the Salvation Army at Christmas, and began watching The Simpsons regularly. It turns out it wasn’t quite as horrific as I thought, and the girls were able to distinguish between a TV show and reality. In reality, they would get their butts kicked if they spoke to us like Bart did his dad. 

For one of our first Christmases as a family, I bought Jim a talking Homer, dressed as Santa saying things like “I hope you bought some quality Simpson products this year” as his hips swayed back and forth and his head turned. Each time the little button on Homer’s base was pressed, a different remark or song was emitted. Sometimes it was “Deck the halls with Buddy Holly…” or “We wish you a merry Christmas” which ended with “Good luck with that Christmas stuff!” Jim loved it. It was a perfect gift with which to annoy us throughout the holiday season. It sat on the table next to his chair every Christmas for the next twenty years and he pressed the button again and again hoping to get a rise out of us.

• • • • • • • •

I take the Christmas tree out of the box this year and set it up the day after Thanksgiving. It is taking me longer to accomplish the decorating than usual. The tree sits with just lights for a couple of days. Then I finally I get motivated to add my ribbon garland and bow. In a large box are all the ornaments I’ve saved since the kids were little. I love pulling them out one by one, reminiscing about the memories they produce. Laura’s kindergarten picture in a tiny gold frame. Amanda’s ten-year-old face shining from a cardboard Christmas bulb. 

Finally, yesterday I find the box with the red and gold ornaments I purchased from Walgreens on a whim about fifteen years ago. Each one is individually wrapped in newspaper and still holds its rich shimmer and hue. And beneath these gems is Homer. 

I somehow forget about him every year until he appears again, and this year is no different. I pull him out and exclaim “Jim! Look what I found!” I press his little button and out comes a familiar phrase, “There’s only one fat guy who brings presents in this house and his name’s not Santa!” 

Laughing, I turn to look at Jim. “What is that?” he asks. 

“It’s Homer!” I remark with glee. I press the button again, and Homer starts singing about Buddy Holly. I look at Jim. He appears somewhat confused. 

At the same time this is happening, Gus is freaking out. He is scared to death of Homer. He runs and hides in the kitchen, then comes out barking at the little guy in the red suit who is wiggling and singing. I realize then that I can’t put Homer on his usual perch next to Jim’s chair. Gus will eat him. But what’s worse, Jim won’t know to press the button. Jim won’t try to get a reaction out of me by constantly making Homer sing. Jim doesn’t know who Homer is.

Homer sits up on the fireplace mantel currently, very out of place next to the Willow Tree figures of Joseph, Mary and the baby. I just don’t know what else to do with him. It seems wrong to put him away. Maybe later when Gus is outside, I’ll try again to see if Jim remembers. Maybe there will be a spark.

If I posted this story on my EOAD Facebook page, women would read it and think, “this is sad, but what do you expect? He has dementia.” But this is Jim. And this is his Homer. How could even dementia take that away? But I know the answer to that question.

Lucky for Gus, Jim won’t be pressing the button and bringing the evil, dancing Homer to life this year. He won’t have to adjust to the annoying sounds the girls and I tolerated for years. 

For the first time though, I would welcome that annoyance. I would laugh if Jim pressed the button that produced Homer’s cheery, obnoxious voice shouting “D’oh!”