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“Mrs. Hatch, this is Cindy at Mission Terrace, calling.  Your mother is severely ill. Her doctor believes this

may be Daisy’s last day.” 

“Cindy, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”  I whispered in shock. 

Daisy was in a coma, when I arrived at her beside a little after 8 am.   A friend had offered to be with me

while I waited.  We shared stories of our childhood to pass the time that seemed, like my mom, too weak

to move.  I told my friend that Daisy was a religious Southern Baptist, who had spent most of the last few

years holding her Bible, just as though she were reading it.  She still recognized me, in spite of the

Alzheimer’s disease that was stealing her mind.

About five in the afternoon, my 88 year old mother opened her eyes and looked at me.  I returned her

gaze and asked, “Mom, are you ready to go to meet Jesus?” 

Daisy glared straight into my eyes, and stated firmly, almost angrily, “No!”  With that, she sat up, ate her

dinner and lived another year!

The next warning call I received from Mission Terrace came on April 8^th of 2003.  Again I was told my

mother might not live through the day.  This time I was skeptical.  I went to see Daisy in the afternoon. 

She was asleep or in a coma, I’m not sure.  I spoke to her silently saying it was alright for her to go, if she

were ready.  She died at 2:30 am the following morning.

At Daisy’s funeral lunch, I told everyone about Webber, a dapper elderly gentleman, another Alzheimer’s

patient, who was Daisy’s “love interest” about six years before she died.  They couldn’t remember each

other’s name, but they definitely knew they were in love.   Web, as we referred to him, and Daisy were

quite an item in the nursing home.

One day the family went to see Daisy and she was not in her room.  Stan, my husband, said, “I wonder

where Daisy is?”

“She’s probably at the Web site,” Rob, my son, responded with a wink. 

“I hope she’s not surfing the Web” quipped his wife, Merrie.

“Not to worry, the surf’s not up!” said the nurse joining in the humor. 

When the nursing home phoned to inform us that Webber had died, we visited Daisy immediately to

share the news and to comfort her in her loss. After I sympathetically told her of his death, Daisy looked at

me with bewildered eyes and asked, “Who was he?”  We counted it a benefit of her disease!

As a Hospice volunteer, I have learned some interesting things about the needs of the dying, the fears,

and the blessings that come from experiencing the transition from the physical to the spiritual body. 

Years earlier, I had visited my father, when he was dying of a variety of ailments, including Alzheimer’s

disease.   He had been in Southern nursing homes for several years.  He was now in a hot, stuffy room

filled with 8 to 10 other patients, all incontinent and unable to move or speak.    

The dying look younger.  Johnny had no wrinkles in his still handsome 72 year old face.  His eyes were

hazel outlined in dark blue and his remaining hair was curly, shiny and black.  I spoke to him aloud and

said with the adoration and connection only an only-daughter can, “Daddy, mom and I are fine.  Don’t

worry about us.  You may go and get yourself a new body—one that works for you.  You can fish and fly

again and do all the other things you love to do. “

All he could say in response was, “oo, oo, oo…”

Johnny died soon after.  From this experience, I had learned that some, who are dying, need to be

released.  They want to know it is okay and that their loved ones will understand it is their desire to go--

that they are ready to die.

So, the question is: Why did my vibrant, active, attractive parents need to die with Alzheimer’s disease? 

And the answer--could it be that those who are ready and want to die and yet are afraid to do so, find the

disease assists them in dying?  It surely helps them to forget who they are, and, in many cases, who their

loved ones are.

Assuming this, I believe I am neither afraid to die nor afraid of Alzheimer’s. I think I will be able to release,

when I am ready or, if not, perhaps I will have the assistance of Alzheimer’s disease.  It will mask my fear

of death allowing for an Easy Passage to the spiritual transition.

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