As you may know I am a volunteer with the Alzheimer’s Association of Greater Cleveland and committee member for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s I joined this organization after experiencing the impact this disease had on my mother and our family. I formed a Walk to End Alzheimer’s team called “Mind Sweepers "with the hope to sweep clear the cobwebs and issues of confusion and memory loss that Alzheimer’s disease afflicts on so many of our loved ones! My page link is http://act.alz.org/goto/Mind_Sweepers_Walk_to_End_ALZ which further explains why I am now actively working with the Alzheimer's Association.  

My mother and her sister both suffered from the disease and it robbed them and our family, from many years that we could have spent together. Ours is not the only family affected by this disease. I suspect that if I were to ask each of you if you know of anyone suffering from this disease, you would be able to tell of a family member, friend or co-worker whose life is or has been impacted by this disease. 

For the millions already affected by the disease, the Association offers care, education, support and resources in communities nationwide. They were a great help to me and our family during mom's final years. If you want more information or need advice on dealing with this disease I encourage you to visit The Alzheimer’s Association at www.alz.org. 

The end of Alzheimer's disease starts with all of us!

 Thank you for your kind consideration!

God bless!

Stan Bernat (440) 263-8794

The Alzheimer’s Association– Cleveland Chapter

Why I Walk -My Mission Story  - SCB                    

I Walk to End Alzheimer’s because of the journey I had with my mother, Irene.

Our journey begins:

Early-Stage:

Her hearing is good, her eyesight not so much.

She drives past her turn on a quiet residential street. She stops, backs up and stops again, after bumping a parked car. Confused and upset she drives home and calls my sister.

 “I’m on my way Mom!” my sister responds.

Meanwhile, a police officer is knocking on her door.

“My daughter is on her way” she explains.

He leaves, but will return after determining the car owner is not concerned. A warning is issued, but in front of the Policeman, she hands her car keys to my sister. Her driving days are over. As only a mother can, she mitigates the confrontation we anticipate in coming months. We were going to tell her that she would not be renewing her driver’s license.

Early-Stage continues:

“I’m OK !” she says. That is why she is still living on her own.  We place the week’s pills in Tupperware containers with the days printed in the largest font the label can fit. (They are easier for her arthritic fingers to open.) My sister stops in during the week, I see her on weekends. My sister calls her around lunchtime; I call her after work, each day; every day.

One day after work, I call. I let the phone ring. No answer. I call again, and again, and yet again. Is the ringer off? I doubt it. Even with her house windows closed, I could hear her phones ringing from the driveway! I call again, same result. I call my sister.

“Mom’s not answering her phone. Did you talk with her today?” I ask.

“Yes, we talked early this afternoon. She was fine. I’m on my way.” My sister responds.

I call again. The phone rings. Please pick up the phone Mom.          Ring. Please pick up the phone Mom!                                                  Ring. Ring. Please God, help her pick up the phone!                       Ring.  Ring. Rin… “Hellooooo” my mother sings into the phone.

“Hi Mom, it’s me. Where have you been? I have been calling you.” I patiently inquire.

Long pause.

“Oh, I thought it was the television.”

Late Early; Early Middle-Stage:

My phone rings at work.

“Hello. This is your Mom’s next door neighbor. She is fine and in our house. She is very upset and says that people are in her house and going through her things. I checked out her house and there is no one there and everything looks fine and in order.”

“I’m on my way!” I tell him after thanking him profusely. I tell my boss I’m gone for the day and will see him Monday morning. Thankfully, he understands.

I arrive. She is fine. I am not!

“Mom, why don’t you come home with me this weekend?” I ask, not for the first time, but to my surprise, she agrees. As she gets some things together, I look around the house that I grew up in and which contains so many memories. We leave; neither of us realizing at the time, that she will never again see the house that she and my father built.

Middle-Stage:

The nurse explains that Mom cannot be discharged to my care; she needs physical therapy as she has forgotten how to walk properly. She is taken to a nursing home within a short distance from my house. Irene has found her new home.

Late-Stage:

Mom talks with many people and responds to their questions. They usually are her mother and four sisters. She has forgotten that they have all predeceased her; most, several decades before.

I am able to see Mom in the morning before work and in the evening on the way home. One evening I stop in and ask her how she is doing.

“Oh, I can’t talk with you now, I have company over. You will have to come back later” She tells me.

“OK Mom.” I answer as I sit down beside her and watch what is currently playing on the TV.

“Oh, that is a cousin.” I hear Mom explain to her virtual visitors.

Ten or fifteen minutes pass and in mid conversation with her mental companions, Mom turns to me and says, “Oh, you’re here! When did you come?”

“Oh, I just got here.” I answer with what my cousin and I call, “therapeutic lying.”

“How were your meetings? Mom inquires.

I am shocked! The previous morning I had mentioned I would be unable to see her that evening or the following morning due to business  meetings I had to attend. I often kept a conversation going by telling her of my activities, clearly realizing that she wouldn’t remember any of it, minutes after the conversation.

I gently ask her what she meant and she responds by saying that she thought I had said, yesterday, that I was busy with some meetings. Fighting back the tears that were desperately trying to escape, and with a heart feeling as though it would burst from my chest, I thought to myself, “Where have you been these last few years Mom? I missed you!”  Of course, the moment passed, and she resumed talking to her sisters.

Very Late-Stage:

The Nursing Home calls and says that I should come.

The room is quiet. Her shallow breathing assisted with oxygen. Her mental conversations now muted. Father had come a few days before to share with her the final sacraments of the Church. She wouldn’t remember them. God would.

The room is still.

“Good bye Mom.”

“God bless you!”

“Say hi to Dad for me.”

Each step taken by an Alzheimer caregiver, along their path, is different. The journey, however, is the same. The path is lined with purple, orange, yellow and blue flowers. A white one hasn’t bloomed, yet. What is important for all to remember is that no one has to think that they are on their own. There are others that are on that journey currently, or like myself, have only the memories of the personal experience. The Alzheimer’s Association is there 24 hours a day, seven days a week, to provide advice, suggestions, or to patiently listen. With the Alzheimer’s Association no one has to take their journey alone!