I just watched  I’ll Be Me tonight on Netflix. The film documents Glen Campbell’s farewell tour after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.  He carries on with his big happy personality and is mostly able to perform his music to large loving audiences, despite the degeneration of his memory. It’s remarkable and affirming to see how doing the thing he loves most (playing music and performing) keeps him ‘himself’ much longer than the doctors estimated he would.  But it is also sad to know that his beloved family members are watching the man they love disappear before their eyes even as they tour with him. Of course, anytime there is a wife in a story like this, I pay close attention to see how she copes with her challenges. (Of course, everyone does it differently, which is exactly the best they are able.) Regardless, she shone brightly.

(Glen Campbell’s music made up a big part of Vernon’s childhood soundtrack, as his parents were fans and played his records in their 1970s living-room, along with the Carpenters and John Denver.)

I felt for this beautifully vulnerable family, knowing they are aware of what lies ahead: perhaps years and years of his not remembering their history, let alone being able to recognize them.

And I realized at this point in our own story, though we don’t know the path that lies ahead for Vernon. we are on the opposite side of the spectrum. In the last week alone, I would say Vernon has been very stable—not only is he less agitated in general, but I’ve noticed he is beginning to remember things more.

He still forgets my name, for example, and will try a list of names he has on his tongue. “Vanessa…Valentine…, etc.”

If I tell him it starts with an “A,” he finds it immediately. So we are getting closer to some consistency here.

Vernon calls Joe “Lee” for some reason we don’t know. This morning he kept telling me that Lee had to go to a meeting. Sure enough, when I visited the care home later in the day, I found Joe was on his way to facilitate some important resident’s meeting.  (“These people. They complain about the wrong things,” he told me afterward.)

Besides his memory, the thing I’ve noticed most about Vernon’s mental recovery lately is his impatience. And his focus on the thing he wants. If I am trying to conduct business on my phone while I’m with him, he gets very frustrated. “Why are you ignoring me?!”

You know who he reminds me of the most right now? JUSTINE. She is forever thirsty for my attention, and I think she dreams all night long about new ways to get it. She is relentless. A chip off the old block, apparently!

So I see now, if this improvement continues with Vernon, my five-year old has actually been preparing me for a time such as this.  (I know mothers of multiple young ones go through this every day…and have since human beginnings.)

No—I have no room to complain, not really. I am blessed indeed. This is just another adjustment. Sometimes the stronger one gets, the more difficult it is for their carers.  And I’m thankful to believe we are moving TOWARD memory and independence again, while every day people watch their loved ones drift away from it.. I don’t know how long it will last but I appreciate the difficulties as they come. I just ask they come in a rhythm we can handle—or that we CAN’T. (Its not like this has made a little bit of  difference so far…)

Here’s a little video of Glen Campbell’s last song, with loving thoughts toward his family and everyone else that goes through losing a loved one (as they know him or her) to neurological unravelling. I recognize already that this is likely going to be a part of Vernon’s future as well. But for now, we celebrate the ability to embrace what we have.