All The Lovely Suffering We Cannot See
On Alzheimer’s disease, euthanasia, and the many misguided attempts to flee from an embrace of life in this world. This is a story about my father and me—and hope.
“Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life” — Percy Shelley, Sonnet (1824)
I’ve spoken to a handful of people over the past 18 months who, after they learn that I’m caring for a father with Alzheimer’s disease, say some very strange things. They often communicate messages which reveal one or both of the following premises:
1) they believe that people with advanced dementia are no longer “themselves”, or no longer “there”;
2) they believe my dad would probably be happier if he were dead, and so would I.
The honesty would almost be admirable were the content not so vile.
I realize that many people simply don’t know how to respond to suffering and death, or even how to respond to bad news, and I have compassion for that. I have also been tongue-tied; I have also said my own hand-picked variety of stupid shit when someone drops a bombshell on me, like the announcement of a terminal disease. But when I have done so, my metaphysical view of the world was always at least…
