Depression in Alzheimer's Patients...

When my dad was alive, Mom was the quiet, strong woman behind the executive.  She kept the household running like a top, saw that my sister and I had everything we needed to grow into successful young adults, and supported my father in all of his endeavors.  She was a woman of many talents and graces and was a hospitable hostess and devoted friend.

My father’s death was expected, yet somehow still unexpected.  He loved his career as a Scout Executive and had stayed on with the local Scout council as a development consultant.  Many successful capital campaigns bore his mark.  A few weeks before his sudden passing from heart failure, he had mentioned to his longtime assistant that he wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue. 

Mom stood staunchly by his side, determined to make light of his failing heart, providing him with constant and loving companionship.  She told me some time later that she knew his days were coming to a close, but did not wish to burden my sister and me with the seriousness of his illness.  I could not find it in my own heart to chastise her for not sharing her burden with us, but could find no fault in her loyalty and steadfastness in the face of losing her life’s partner.  Their last moments together were spent sitting in lawn chairs under the spreading ash trees in our front yard reminiscing about sweet family memories.

After a suitable period of mourning Dad’s passing, Mom embraced widowhood and began to step out of the house for lunch and evening concerts with friends, slowly leaving the quietness of her former life behind.  She became an active part of the senior group at church and truly enjoyed forging new friendships with other senior singles.  Mom’s personality blossomed and she fairly sparkled, as one friend described her.  It was so fun to talk with her on the phone and hear the excitement in her voice as she described the outings and the latest civic projects in which she was involved.  My mailbox was filled with pictures of cruises, articles of interest that she had clipped from the newspaper, and new recipes she had tried out on unsuspecting neighbors.  Mom became an elder at the church and headed up the local genealogy chapter as its president.

For the next few years life was good for my mother, and we grew closer than we had in many years.  She came several times to visit Bill and me in the northeast, and although at first it did seem bittersweet that she was alone, we laughed more than I could recall in recent history.  We explored the local farm markets and art museums, took in chick flicks, and talked about girl stuff.  For the first time in our lives together, she was more than my mother – she was my friend.

While I hoped that our newfound joy in each other would continue, a change gradually began to come over her.  Off and on her mood began to darken and the glowing descriptions of trips to exotic places noticeably dimmed.  The usually animated retellings of adventures with friends lacked their normal enthusiasm, but what was the most startling, perhaps, was the fact that she quit going to genealogical meetings, cancelled dinner dates with close friends, and showed no desire to travel.  As the months passed, Mom even lost interest in attending church services claiming that she had no use for the church. 

She seemed deeply unhappy, in spite of a life rich with love, friendship, excitement, and adventure.  Our weekly phone conversations became more of a litany of grumblings, a listing of her woes and the recounting of the faults of others.  Not certain of how to react to this newly acquired hopeless view of life, I came to dread these conversations and ashamedly admit that I often put off calling her until the following week.  My mother was showing signs of depression, a needy and dark mental disorder that I had no clue how to combat, much less how to help her work her way out of.   

A year or two later – with no reprieve from Mom’s uncharacteristically negative behaviors – Louisa and I learned that our mother was, in fact, suffering from Alzheimer’s.  

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Distinguishing Alzheimer’s from depression can be a challenge because they both share similar symptoms… namely apathy, loss of interest in activities and hobbies, social withdrawal, isolation, trouble concentrating and impaired thinking.  Making the diagnostic process even more difficult is that Alzheimer’s individuals may not be able to adequately communicate how they are feeling emotionally.  Feelings of helplessness, inadequacy, sadness and guilt are not easy to explain even for the most articulate.  The observant diagnostician relies on family interviews, medical histories and a complete physical and mental exam in order to make an accurate diagnosis and to consequently determine if the individual has dementia, depression, or both.  

(For more information on dealing with depression and Alzheimer’s, CLICK HERE or read the sidebar to the right.)    

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“A Bandaid for the Caregiver” is dedicated to all those families who journey with memory loss in their lives and the sharing of hope and joy and new possibilities.  In each difficult moment there lies an opportunity for love.

Journey with courage,
Elaine  

Author of  "Conversations with Nora: a Family's Journal with Alzheimer's"

Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, "Conversations with Nora: a Family’s Journey with Alzheimer’s" follows the journey of two sisters, Allison and Louisa, as they each struggle to understand the grip of Alzheimer's on their family. The novel, inspired by a true story, takes the reader from the sisters' first realization that something is wrong with Mother; through her agonizing denial and efforts to thwart the daughters' attempts to care for her; and then plunges the reader along with the entire family into the dark and confusing maze of dementia. The path to finding a place where Mother will be secure and can feel at home is filled with many obstacles, not the least of which are her own fight for independence and a medical system that seems unwilling to help them. Told through the conversations between the eldest daughter Allison and her friend Nora, the healing power of love and caring takes on a fresh meaning. Nora's supportive, patient, and nonjudgmental presence provides a safe place for Allison to move through a raw and painful reality toward healing.

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