Alzheimer’s Beautiful Scars

Video Version Here

I’ve seen some lovely scars on trees—scars formed after a trauma to the tree, such as a limb being lopped off. The tree will heal itself by first forming a callus to seal off the freshly exposed pulp, then the tissue builds up at the edges, strengthening the tree at this weak spot.

One tree I visit often has a large hole right in the middle of the trunk, and I can see through it to the forest behind. This tree is on the edge of a stream, and it’s root system is visibly clinging to the bank. The whole tree projects a powerful beauty and strength in the way it has adapted to the shifting course of the stream and whatever caused the hole in its trunk.

But what about the wounds we sustain from the trauma in our lives? The trauma certainly isn’t beautiful, but can the scars be? I believe that our painful experiences, and the healing from them, can make our lives richer and more meaningful.

I cannot speak to your wounding, and I may speak of mine in later writings. Today, though, I want to share some thoughts about my husband’s wounding and possible gifts he received from it.

The trauma of Alzheimer’s disease certainly scarred Harvey severely, but what possible beauty was there for him through all this? I have rebelled against the saying, “All things happen for good” as it applied to his time with dementia. I could see that, in time, my daughters and I might recognize our beautiful scars from this experience, but I absolutely could see no good for him in it.

It’s been two and a half years since Harvey passed away, and it’s taken me that long to realize that maybe there was some beauty in his experience.

I can now see that the freedom to live in the moment offered some grace. To be stripped of memories, plans, and expectations was probably very unsettling, but maybe it was also liberating. When he ate, he was fully present in the meal, not worried about what was going to happen next, and not ruminating on what had happened earlier in the day. When he took a walk, that was all he was doing.

Here was mindfulness in practice. Because his brain couldn’t hold onto multiple thoughts or ideas or concerns, he could only be present in that one moment.

I am reminded that in meditation practice, one is instructed to acknowledge, then release, unwanted thought intrusions. With Alzheimer’s, there may be blessing in having such fleeting thoughts. I know that it must have been frustrating for him to not be able to grasp and hold onto a thought, but could there be something lovely about it too?

Seeing the world through fresh, childlike eyes was another beautiful aspect to his disease.

Harvey was fascinated by small wonders, such as the reflection on a window, or the sparkling light on a goblet. Dogs and young children enthralled him.

I recently re-read an entry in my journal about a short trip that our younger daughter, Christina, and I took to Colorado. On our return home, our older daughter, Elena, drove herself and her dad to the airport to pick us up. As her car approached, I could see Harvey talking while grinning from ear to ear. Elena told me that he was repeating, “There she is! There she is!” He even opened the car door before it completely stopped, and rushed out of the car exclaiming, “It’s you!” and grabbed me in a bear hug.

I don’t know that he knew my name or what his relationship to me was, but I do know that he would never have acted like this with me before the diagnosis. And THIS was a gift. For me, yes, but for Harvey, I can imagine how unmitigated his joy was and how free he was to express it. Beautiful!

There is something marvelous about being stripped of the adult ego that we have built to armor ourselves and having the pure soul-child manifest itself so completely.

The scars in Harvey’s brain allowed him to live closer to the surface, closer to his true self, and maybe even closer to the divine.

And my healing is becoming more complete by coming to this realization.