Support Groups

by Bud Focht

As a noun, Support can be something that bears the weight, something or someone who furnishes aid, or something worn to ease the strain on an injury.

As a verb, Support can be to carry the weight, to provide the necessities of life, and to give strength.

The word Group can be defined as “a type of hug!”

Hi, my name is Bud and since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease I have discovered that I am blessed with a tremendous support group, made up of family and friends who more than help me carry the weight. They ease my strain and provide me with the necessities I need.  They truly give me strength with their hugs.

Alzheimer’s disease is life-changing for both those who are diagnosed and those close to them. There are no two people closer than me and Terry. We are joined at the hip, always have been.

I read where there are Support Groups in many communities where caregivers can go to exchange practical information on caregiving problems and possible solutions. They share feelings, needs and concerns and they meet to exchange information on resources available in the community. They talk about ways of coping.

Me, I cope by drinking a lot of cheap beer, sometimes crying in it.

It truly is great that these support groups are out there, but I don’t think they are for me.

My support group is composed of my immediate family, my extended family and my friends. No meetings, just people being there for us, with us, down this road that has more pot holes than my neighborhood street at the end of winter.

Terry and I have three amazing kids, ranging from 25 to 30 years old. I know, all parents think their kids are amazing. Well let me tell you, I was a summer camp counselor for kids for three summers and a baseball clinician at a college baseball camp for kids for three other summers. I’ve been spending the majority of my time over the last 40 years on college campuses, the last 36 as an administrator, and I have seen many amazing and many not-so-amazing kids. Believe me, I know the difference.

Our oldest had a great job as an au pair (that’s what rich people call a live-in nanny for those of you who don’t parle francais) in Augusta, Georgia, taking care of a beautiful little boy, the son of a pair of doctors. The daddy doctor is a second cousin who we’ve known since he was a kid and is now a highly respected emergency room surgeon. She had a great gig, living where the peaches grow in a mansion with a pool, down the street from the Augusta National Golf Club (home of The Master’s), but she gave it all up in October, once it became apparent that Terry was suffering from more than just CRS (that stands for Can’t Remember Shit for those of you who can’t remember shit.)

Having her come back to live with us after all these years has been great, although I hate the fact that I no longer win all of the Jeopardy contests we have most nights in front of the television. (Speaking of TV game shows, Terry still does great when playing along with Wheel of Fortune. I always thought she had a thing for Pat Sajak). Our oldest has always been more on the quiet side in public but she more than makes up for that when she is around the family. (I keep telling myself the input is good for Terry’s brain.)  There is a special spot in your heart for your first born; they have it so tough because as brand new parents we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.

When she was a baby, when she dropped her pacifier we would boil water and sterilize it before giving it back to her.

Our son is very successful and busy with his work, his training (running, biking, swimming) and his dog, Harry. Harry is a Rhodesian Ridgeback with a bit of a hound dog in him and a larger bit of a devil dog in him.  Harry could very well be the subject of his own blog with all of his (mis)adventures.

Harry’s best friend and owner is very outgoing and confident, and amazes one of his oldest friends anytime they go out because it seems he cannot travel anywhere on the east coast without running into someone who knows (and likes) him. He had a great advantage in life as being just 18 months younger than his sister, able to copy and learn from her when they were ‘yoots’.  He now lives 45 minutes away but comes home as often as he can, to help me with chores around the house, to let us enjoy our ‘granddog’ and to visit his mother.

When he was a baby if he dropped his pacifier we would run it under the water faucet before giving it back to him.

Our youngest is working toward her master’s degree in nutrition and enjoying being in her mid-20s living with her boyfriend of three years. (that is how long they’ve been dating, not his age).  I kid them that they are hippies, (probably because we were more laid back raising her since we were finally comfortable with this parenting thing) but in reality I am jealous of them. I was a little young to fully appreciate the original youth movement of the mid-60s (although I did have a groovy Nehru jacket). The baby of our family lives 30 minutes away but comes home every Sunday and uses her biochemistry degree to make us a healthy meal.

When she was a baby and she dropped her pacifier we would have the dog lick it off before giving it back to her.

Most of Terry’s large family lives five hours away from us in the New England area, although two siblings live as far away as New Mexico and Rita the world traveler lives in the Great White North (Canada for those of you who didn’t enjoy Bob and Doug McKenzie (Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas as a couple of Canuck ‘hosers’ wearing tuques) on Second City TV)

Terry does not get to see her family nearly as much as she would like (twice a year on good years), but they are the ones who convinced me to write this blog and they would do anything for the sixth of the 10 siblings. They have supported us over the years with actions (several projects on the house that included, at different times, replacing the roof, replacing windows and walls, replacing the heating and electrical system, replacing floors), with financial support (for the trip to Hawaii), with spiritual support (there are more people praying for Terry than there are people praying for Argentina to win the World Cup) and with the support of cards, letters, phone calls and e-mails. I may have to learn to Skype like they all do.

Along with a great family, as Bette Midler sang, You’ve gotta have friends.

I ran into two guys the other night, Bob and Bob, who I was close to in the 1980s, back when we were young parents who were still able to play sports where you actually needed to wear a jock strap.  The closest I come to contact sports now is scrabble. I was amazed to find out that they are reading my blog. Hell, I was amazed that one of them could read. Like too many people, they had parents or in-laws who suffered from dementia and know all too well how it turns out.

A friend from my Miami days cared for her mother with dementia and sends me all sorts of great reading and research materials, as well as experienced advice. You can’t make old friends.

My oldest and closest friend has been like a brother from a different mother (and a different father for that matter) since 1974.  He is the one who has to see me sometimes cry in my beer when we discuss what is happening to my Terry. He cares too much, for everyone, and my quality of life would not have been as good the last 40 years without him.

Those Support Groups in the community run by the Alzheimer’s Association are great and are there for the many people who need them.

Me, I’m lucky. I’ve got a great family and I’ve got great friends. And, as George Gershwin wrote, “Ol’ Man Trouble, I don’t mind him. You won’t find him ‘round my door. I got starlight, I got sweet dreams. I got My Girl. Who could ask for anything more?”

Until next time, thanks for your support.

Bud

                                                George Gershwin