Team St. Leonard's Memoirs Group No. 2: Memories of Him

My husband, Fred Ebert, died August 20, 2005, of the dignity-robbing disease, Alzheimer's, at the age of 85. He was a tall, handsome man who was a printer
by trade. He used to work in the garage a lot and have to measure many things
for the job. I remember one day, it took him five tries before he could get the proper measurement he needed, and this was so unlike him because he was normally good at this. It was at this point that I realized he didn't understand the way he once had.

The two of us traveled a lot; however, on one of our trips, I remember how he kept driving around in a circle and we always ended up in the same spot. I told him that we had been at this point before, but he insisted that we never had. This is when it came to the time that I had to sit myself down and ask myself ... is it him or is it me? Yet, with the occurrence of other symptoms of this disease, I realized it was him.

Therefore, I did all I could do to protect myself such as my assets, and my future. I had a general idea what I was in for. I knew that change was the worst thing to do for someone with his disease, but he was beginning to become unruly, and I needed to be secure.
I saw him failing and I needed the help.

I remember one evening as we were sitting on our screened-in porch, he kept leaning forward to look out toward the front door. I inquired as to what he was looking for, and he told me he was waiting for his wife.

In March, 1993, we made the decision to put our home of 33 years on the market and made arrangements to move to St. Leonard Retirement Community. It was a new environment for him, but turned out to be a good move, a safe decision.

He was in his own world. Many times, he ran away and I would have to go out and find him. One day, I took him to our Day-Away program and informed the instructor that I would return at 5; however, he managedto walk away from the building — walking 3 miles in 95 degree weather before the police found him down on 725.

Just before I admitted him to the Dementia Unit at our nursing home, I lost him again at Office Depot. He left the store and had walked away, with no identification on him. A customer recognized him and turned him around and I had no opportunity to thank her.

At this time, and as his condition worsened, he never asked how I was doing, or how the finances were, or anything of that sort. The six years he spent in the Nursing home were really tough, with lots of problems as the disease progressed. However, my eighteen years living here at St. Leonards has been a happy place and surely the best move I have ever made.

I will turn 88 years-old next November. I am a survivor and I just deal.