By Lois Requist 

People sometimes say things like, “Growing old isn’t for sissies,” or “It’s all downhill from here,” or some other such remarks, none of which I agree with, but, as we’ve talked about here before, our culture tends to glorify the young, the perfect, while not speaking highly of its elders. People say they feel invisible as an older person. Those attitudes are part of the reason for groups like Carquinez Village, who believe that older people have value and that their lives can be enriched with support, connections, and inspiration.
I experienced one of those down times recently, or I really should say, I’m experiencing it because it isn’t over. Let me explain. I’ve been part of a ladies’ lunch bunch of eight for 26 years. We worked together, and, when that came to an end, we decided to meet once a month for lunch to stay in touch. We’ve done that since. We’ve taken trips together, and shared our lives.
While women who lunch are sometimes pictured as trivial, and all of us are at times, over those years, we’ve grown bonds. One of these friends was with me when my husband died. Two years later, I went to her house when we knew her husband had only a short time left. We drank. We laughed. We cried.
We were at a wedding together in Napa when the earthquake shook us out of bed and the hotel caught on fire. We all trouped outside and stood around waiting to get back in our rooms. The groom came out holding—not the bride, but the bridal gown—that might have been a hint that after all the hoopla and moola of a big Napa wedding, the marriage got off to a rocky start. It ended in less than two months.
Other weddings that we shared have been more successful. We know about the grandkids. They had a grandma shower for me when my first was about to arrive.   Now, she’s in college.
As far as I can tell, these are how bonds grow and strengthen—by sharing the good and bad that comes at us in life. A couple of years ago, the group rented a house and spent a weekend in Bodega Bay. We’d had hints before, but this time we realized that one of us was confused, behaving strangely especially after having a couple glasses of wine.
We talked with her long-time significant other. A diagnosis at Kaiser was that she had Alzheimer’s. Apparently, Kaiser notifies the Department of Motor Vehicles because her driver’s license was soon revoked.
“I don’t  know why. I guess it’s my age,” she said. She’s my age. She never told us of her diagnosis. I don’t know if she realized and remembered it. As monthly lunches continued, we got used to picking her up and taking her home, of her not really tracking the conversation, ordering what someone else had ordered, and repeating herself.
Last week, we celebrated her 80th birthday. We arranged to bring the meal to her house. She greeted us with smiles and hugs, but it was unclear whether she knew who we were. I’d made a collage of pictures of us over the years and it sat in the middle of the table. Perhaps it will remind her of the good times we’ve had. I don’t know.
She had a hair appointment after lunch, so she brought her purse to the table, and kept wondering if it was time to leave. At one point, she was combing through it for something. When it was time, she thought she was going to the doctor and got quite insistent about it. After she left—one of us went with her—the rest of us sat and talked. Her significant other has been with her for 25 years or more. He admitted to being exhausted, saying she had asked about that appointment so many times in the last few days that it drove him nuts. He is currently trying to arrange home health care.
As we talked, I felt something unraveling. The years of sharing with this member of our group are over. There still will be moments, but that’s all. I thought how important remembering is to us. All that goes into making connections, with friends, with anyone, even our connections to our own experience and the things we possess start, I guess, in the brain with some synapsis, some cellular memory. When she used to look at me, she saw myriad experiences that surrounded our involvement. Family. Friends. Moments.
Her partner, who has been living with her deterioration for a couple of years now, said her condition doesn’t run along a straight line, ever declining, on the contrary, she will be better for a time, and then worse. He knows she can’t drink alcohol at all anymore, because it exacerbates her condition.
I came away feeling compassion for my friend, her companion, and all of us that have known her for these many years. The relationship is diminished and will only continue.
“The doctors say exercise is good for her,” her companion said. “Just come to the door and offer to go for a walk with her. Tell her who you are. That works better than calling ahead.” He says the doctors offer little and nothing to reverse the progress of the disease.
The statistics are staggering as to the number of people expected to have this disease in the coming years.
I thought again of the book by Dr. Gayatri Devi I mentioned in the last column. “The Spectrum of Hope, An Optimistic and New Approach to Alzheimer’s Disease and Other Dementias” offers a more positive view than seems available to my friend at this point.
Carquinez Village is determined to help older people live the best lives possible, and that will include learning more about dementia—Alzheimer’s is a form of dementia. My friend, who doesn’t know all we shared anymore reminds me of the importance of making the most of connections while we have them.

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