Tattle Pup and Whiny Kitty

Mona was a teacher and she loved her job. She taught piano and voice, she conducted church choirs and school choirs, she taught preschool and kindergarten and even home-schooled our kids for several years. She loved teaching and she loved her kids and she was always on the lookout for ways to help them learn. 

Did you ever hear about the conga line she'd set up to help her 5 year-olds learn their vowels? Hands on the shoulders of the child in front of them, she would lead them around the classroom chanting in-step "A-E-I-O-U -- Uh! A-E-I-O-U -- Uh!" The first day it snowed was always reserved for going outside and playing before there was a chance the rest of the day would be cancelled. And have you ever heard of a school teacher who taught their kids to blow bubbles with bubble gum? That was Mrs. Veatch.

And no story about my wife's teaching career would be complete without telling you about Tattle Pup and Whiny Kitty. One summer Mona found two large cartoon drawings of a puppy dog and a kitten, printed them out, laminated them, and posted them eye-high-for-a-five-year-old in a corner of her classroom. Every year on the first day of school she introduced her kids to Tattle Pup and Whiny Kitty, explaining the important job each had. "I'm just so busy I don't have time to listen to tattling or whining," she'd explain, "so if you're tattling or whining you'll have to tell it to Tattle Pup or Whiny Kitty." 

It usually took a week or two for the kids to catch on but they always did. "I'm sorry," she'd tell them, "but you're tattling and I don't listen to tattling. That's Tattle Pup's job so you need to go tell Tattle Pup." It was the same for Whiny Kitty. "That sounds a lot like whining and I don't listen to whining," she'd remind them. "You'd better go tell Whiny Kitty." And they would!

My wife is in the special care unit of the nursing home now, and she's the youngest person there by far. The staff has told me she's at least 15 years younger than any other resident and this is a new experience for them. Early-onset Alzheimer's can be different from -- what do you call it? -- regular Alzheimer's. I won't try to explain it in medical terms because I can't, but I can tell you with early-onset you almost have to ignore what your eyes are telling you, you almost have to suspend belief. This is a chance for the staff at the nursing home to go to school.

I think about that often. That in the midst of this horrible, cruel disease my wife is still doing what she loves. She's still teaching. 

Tattle Pup and Whiny Kitty would approve.

Hail to De Queen

Alzheimer's Disease is a thief. It steals the patient's health and the family's finances; it steals the future. It can also steal joy -- but only if you let it. Believe it or not, you can find joy and you can find humor. It's there if you look for it and take time to appreciate it.

Five years ago this month Mona and I took a trip to see her parents who lived in southwest Arkansas. We'd visited them several times previously but not for a while, and we wanted to make the trip before winter. It was a long drive -- more than 600 miles one way -- so we broke up the journey into two days there and two days back. It was good to spend the time together away from home but in many ways the trip was a tough one for her. She had lost all concept of time, she occasionally didn't remember why we were in the car or where we were going, and she didn't recognize any of the cities or landmarks along the way. 

The past several months had already been tough ones for us. In June I'd had to explain to her that she could no longer teach kindergarten -- and that broke her heart. A few weeks before this trip to Arkansas -- following a frightening episode on the road -- I had to ask her for her car keys. 

J R R Tolkien once wrote that it's not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit. Mona was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's in 2007, and since then I have never heard my wife complain, or ask why this happened to her, or feel sorry for herself. Not once. The only time I saw her cry was late one night soon after she was diagnosed; she told me she didn't want her condition to get so bad that she'd no longer be able to praise God. My wife is the strongest woman I've ever known.

We headed south across the boarder from Missouri into Arkansas that day and Mona was quiet for a long time. I let her know when we were getting closer to her parents' house but she didn't recognize any of the surroundings. "Are you sure we've been here before?" she'd say. "I don't remember any of this."

We were less than an hour away when we passed a road sign announcing that the small town of De Queen was ten miles ahead. Her mood suddenly brightened.

"OH!" she said. "I DO remember De Queen."

I was encouraged. "You do?"

"Yeah," she said. "She lives in De London."

Rally Mom

The Kansas City Royals baseball team won the World Series last night. It was their first World Series win since 1985. Thirty years without a championship. Almost thirty years without even being good enough to qualify for the post season playoffs. The team had its ups and downs during the 1990s and then spent much of the first part of this century in last place, losing game after game every season. Things began turning around a few years ago when, with some new leadership and and a group of talented young players, they began to win. Last night they won it all.

My daughter Abigail has been a big fan of the team since she was a small girl. Her closets were always filled with Royals ball caps, tee shirts and sweat shirts, and we had a kitchen cabinet filled with Kansas City Royals stadium cups she and I brought back from the games we attended. She's a grown woman now, married and living in the Seattle area, but her love of the Kansas City Royals has never wavered. When the Royals play the Seattle Mariners Abby is always there in person, cheering for them as loudly as ever.

Many of you know my wife Mona was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease nine years ago. She's in a nursing home now and while it's difficult for her to communicate she always lets us know she loves us and she's always a source of inspiration. Last month as the Royals began their march to the championship I thought Abby might like to have a photo of her mom supporting her favorite team. During a visit to the nursing home I took off my Royals cap, placed it on her, and asked her to give me her best smile. It's the photo you see above.

Late last night, after the final out of the World Series, I texted Abby my congratulations and she sent me a photo of herself dressed in the uniform jersey of Lorenzo Cain, her favorite player. Her eyes were red with tears and she told me how important this photo of her mom had been to her. During the playoffs when the Royals reached a critical point in a game and needed a boost Abby would open her phone and pull up the photo of her mom wearing the Royals ball cap. She even gave this special photo a name.

She called it Rally Mom.

In the games of this championship series the Kansas City Royals scored 40 runs in the 8th inning or later. The other nine teams in the tournament combined scored 26. For those of you who aren't baseball fans that's very good. Almost impossibly good. It was comeback after comeback as they pulled games out of the fire at the last minute. The Royals never quit and the significance wasn't lost on Abby. "Dad," she told me last night, "Rally Mom got us there."

Alzheimer's disease is many horrible things but most of all it's a thief. It's stolen years from me together with the woman I love and it's stolen Mona's time watching her grandchildren grow up. However, there are still important things it can't steal. It can't steal the memories we have or the love that's still in her eyes or her ability to encourage and inspire us. My family and I have faced some impossible situations during the past nine years. There's been grief and heartache, disappointment and discouragement. But I've learned so much from my wife about patience and faith, about taking life one moment, one day, one week at a time. One pitch, one swing of the bat, one inning at a time. You keep going. You keep believing. And you don't quit.

Rally Mom wouldn't have it any other way.