🎵 “In My Life” – The Epiphany of the EOA Spouse The Beatles
Today was a strange day.
Tomorrow I turn 55.
So there I was, on the eve of my birthday, already at my computer working early.
One thing I am incredibly grateful for is that I work from home. It has made managing Early
Onset Alzheimer's and still having a career possible in ways I don't think I fully appreciated before all of this.
Rob usually gets up later than I do. Sometimes 9:30 or 10:00. Other mornings he's up earlier to work out.
But this morning he came out around 8:30.
And immediately...
Something was different.
He looked incredibly sad.
He walked over and just stood next to my desk.
He was trying to tell me something, but he was talking quickly and the words weren't coming together very well.
We're Stage 5 now.
His aphasia can make it difficult for him to explain something complicated, so I've learned to slow everything down.
I stopped working.
Calmed him down.
Listened.
And slowly...
I understood.
“God Came to Me Last Night.”
He told me he'd had a dream.
Then corrected himself.
It wasn't a dream.
God came to me.
Now, before anyone takes this in a completely different direction, you need to know something about us.
We are not religious people.
We've probably been to church three times during our entire marriage.
There was our wedding.
Someone else's wedding.
And one other time when some guy puked on me during service. (got his demons out apparently)
That's a whole different blog post.
😂
So when my husband with Stage 5 Alzheimer's stood next to my desk and started telling me that God had come to him during the night, I listened.
He said it was like he was above himself.
Looking down.
God was there with him.
And they were looking at his life.
And at me.
⚡And Then He Said Something I Never Expected
I'm piecing together his words because communicating something this complicated is difficult for him now.
He said he saw what kind of husband he'd been.
He told me he'd been a horrible husband.
His words.
He talked about how he had treated me.
And then he said something about:
“The words I cast upon you.”
That stopped me.
Because that's not an expression Rob would normally use.
Not now.
Not before Alzheimer's.
But I understood exactly what he meant.
He was talking about the things he'd said to me over our marriage.
Things that hurt.
Things that stayed.
And standing beside my desk that morning...
He told me he was sorry.
😳What the Hell Do You Say to That?
I didn't have anything.
I was bawling.
I stood up.
I wrapped my arms around him.
And I held him.
There wasn't a speech.
I didn't give him a list.
I didn't say:
“Well, since we're apparently doing marriage performance reviews with God, I have a few additional items...”
I just hugged him.
Because somehow, in whatever happened inside his brain that night, he had found something I never expected him to find.
Perspective.
And then...
He walked away.
That was it.
He didn't mention it again.
Didn't bring it up at breakfast.
Didn't circle back later. (lol)
As far as I know, the entire conversation may already be gone.
But it isn't gone for me.
I Think I'm Going to Call It his Epiphany
I don't know what happened that night.
Was it a vivid dream?
Was it his Alzheimer's brain processing old memories?
Was it something spiritual?
Was it God?
I have absolutely no idea.
And for once, I don't think I need to figure it out.
Because what mattered to me was what happened afterward.
For a few minutes...
He saw me.
Not caregiver me.
Not the person who finds his things.
Makes the appointments.
Explains things.
Keeps him safe.
Answers the questions.
Redirects him.
Handles the life he can no longer completely manage.
His wife.
He saw his wife.
And he acknowledged something I'd carried for a very long time.
🧠 There's an Ugly Part of Caregiving We Don't Talk About
Here's something I don't think spouses always feel comfortable saying.
Sometimes the person you're now caring for...
wasn't always very good at taking care of you.
And that's complicated.
Because Alzheimer's doesn't erase your marriage before Alzheimer's.
It doesn't erase the arguments.
The disappointments.
The things that were said.
The things that weren't said.
The years when you needed something from them and didn't get it.
And then this disease arrives and suddenly you're expected to become extraordinarily
patient, compassionate, forgiving and devoted.
You take care of them.
You protect them.
You sacrifice for them.
And somewhere very quietly in the back of your mind can live a question you're almost ashamed to ask:
Would you have done this for me?
I know my answer.
It's a NO.
He would have walked away, he never could do hard things, he would have said it was too much, too hard, and he needed to do what he needed and what about him.
And that's been one of the harder pieces of anger I've carried through this disease.
If our situations were reversed, I don't believe Rob would be doing what I'm doing.
I believe my daughter would take care of me. My step son would offer help.
My mother would certainly be trying to take care of me if she could..
But Rob?
I think he would have been gone a month into this.
That's hard to admit.
And harder to reconcile when you're the one staying.
But I Don't Put That on Him
I don't walk around telling him: (though trust me it's the rolling words in my head)
You were a shitty husband and a shitty dad, you were a narcissistic ahole that only cared about you. (it feels good to just say it/write it out loud and not feel bad)
What purpose would that serve now?
I don't unload years of marital history onto a man whose brain can no longer process all of it.
I don't punish today's Rob for things Alzheimer's has made impossible for him to repair.
But that doesn't mean those feelings magically disappeared.
I remember.
And sometimes that's the strange loneliness of being the cognitively healthy spouse.
You carry the history for both of you.
The good.
The bad.
The funny.
The painful.
And eventually you may be the only person in the marriage who remembers some of it.
💛And Then God Apparently Stepped In
I have to laugh a little because otherwise this entire disease becomes unbearably heavy.
Apparently I wasn't going to tell Rob what a shitty husband he'd been.
So...
God handled the performance review and it was not a
💛 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 💛
Thank you, Lord.
😂
And somehow, whatever happened in that dream gave me something I didn't realize I still needed.
Acknowledgment.
Not an Alzheimer's apology that I dragged out of him.
Not me explaining what happened.
Not me reminding him.
He came to me.
He said it.
And I believed him.
❤️ Now I Hope the Kids Get Their Moment
That's the only thing I found myself wishing afterward.
I hope somewhere inside that brain there is another epiphany waiting for our kids.
Because Alzheimer's changes their history too.
I hope somehow he gets a moment of clarity with them.
A moment where he can say whatever he needs to say.
I love you.
I'm proud of you.
I'm sorry.
Whatever their words need to be.
Because after this morning, I understand how powerful a few minutes can be.
🎵 In My Life
Tomorrow I turn 55.
Not exactly the birthday-eve present I expected.
But maybe it was a gift.
A very strange one.
I don't know whether God visited my husband last night.
I don't know what happens inside an Alzheimer's brain while someone sleeps.
And I don't need anyone to explain it to me.
I only know what happened in my house this morning.
My husband walked over to my desk.
He looked incredibly sad.
He struggled until he found enough words to tell me what he needed me to know.
He saw his life.
He saw me.
And he was sorry.
I hugged him.
He walked away.
And probably forgot.
But I didn't.
After four years of Alzheimer's taking things away from us...
this morning, somehow, it gave something back.
I'll take it, my birthday gift.
💬 Disclaimer:
Keep in mind, I am writing this blog over years, not in one day- I repeat some things, but because it became more applicable today. I’m not a doctor, lawyer, therapist, or expert—just a wife trying to figure this out one day at a time. Everything shared here is based on our experience and things that have helped us along the way. Take what helps, leave what doesn’t, and always check with professionals when needed. I also use AI to help clean up my writing, organize thoughts, and pull together resources because honestly… caregiver brains are tired too. If something here helps another family feel less alone, then it’s worth sharing.
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