It's best to ignore the hours as they pass

Beating back boredom is part of getting old

One thing I thought I was offering readers in the “Alzheimer’s Chronicles” columns I wrote for about four years for the paper was an honest appraisal of what it’s like to be a caregiver for someone with Alzheimer’s.

But those were early days, when Bella still enjoyed doing yard work and taking walks, and I didn’t appreciate how far the disease would carry us into silence and boredom.

When it’s difficult to hold together a conversation, and you don’t feel up to a walk or, sometimes, even leaving the house, your options for passing the time dwindle. 

We’ve seen so many shows on Netflix and Prime Video, I found myself recently watching a Kristin Bell movie set on a cruise ship that was an hour and a half-long ad for Royal Caribbean. Who knew that cruise ship passengers are so unfailingly friendly, and the trips are so fun?

The movie made me appreciate the hours Bella and I spend sitting on the couch in the library, with me reading the news on my phone and Bella petting the dog and looking out the window.

“It’s trench warfare in Ukraine,” I say. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Sure,” Bella says, and I read her the story.

But the stories tend to be long and more complicated than they need to be, and she gets distracted, usually by the dog, who expresses his dissatisfaction with this activity by sitting up straight and whining.

“What does he want?” Bella says, and the choices are simple — to eat or go outside.

Our choices are similar. 

We can draw out breakfast for hours, lingering over coffee and toast. I play Wordle and scan the national newspapers and react to Bella’s remarks about the loud trucks going by or the birds she spots flitting past the window.

“What are those headlights?” she says. “Why is there a car on our lawn?”

“Those are the lights from the ceiling reflecting in the glass on the picture of your grandmother,” I say.

After a few days, I move the picture away from the window.

Sometimes, we go downtown to Spot Coffee and sit on one of the couches, where we can watch people. Yesterday, I ran into a couple of people I know from when I was at the paper, and we said hello. A woman who worked on our editorial board said she was reading these columns, which made me glad. A web of readers has provoked and sustained me since I started writing columns for the Post-Star in the 1990s.

Taking a step away from the world of social interaction, as Bella and I have done, has shown me how dependent we human beings are on connecting with our fellow creatures. More than the physical deterioration, the tendency to become more isolated is the most unfortunate part of getting old.

Alzheimer’s heightens the isolation. Everyone has to make an extra effort. It’s like raising your voice to get through to your ancient aunt, but harder. None of us is  trained in how to communicate with someone who can’t hold onto an idea in the time it takes to speak a sentence. 

“What was that?” I say, looking up, after Bella breaks the silence in our library.

She stares.

“It’s gone.”

At times, the silence extends as we gaze around at the familiar furnishings and, perhaps, into the abyss.

Does the abyss gaze back?

If it does, then I think it is has something to tell us: Get off the couch!