Alzheimer’s: A Family Perspective

In honor of Alzheimer’s Awareness Month, our executive director, Jaime Saal, MA, wrote a blog about her family’s experience with Alzheimer’s Disease.


My Grandpa Joe was a strong man.  Growing up in Germany, he loved to play soccer and ride his motorcycle.  He was handsome, kind and determined.  In 1944, he, my grandmother and my dad fled war-torn Europe and settled in the Bronx.  In spite of being color-blind, grandpa took a job cutting leather.  He and my grandma took English classes every night in an effort to remove the language barrier as quickly as possible. 

My grandpa lived a good life.  He had two sons and three grand-daughters.  He loved being with his family.  Growing up, we went to the beach with my grandparents every summer Sunday.  He enjoyed life’s simplest pleasures, like buying his grandkids ice cream cone or building sand castles with us on the beach.  On Wednesday nights, we had dinner at my grandparents’ house.  After dinner, grandpa pulled out a tub of gummy bears and we watched Jeopardy as a family.

When grandpa turned 80, things began to change.  We watched my strong, stubborn grandpa become insecure and frail.  He began to ask the same questions over and over.  Many of his insecurities had to do with money.  He appeared to be in constant worry about finances (even though he had no reason to be).  Soon, my grandma began to report to us that he was leaving the water running or forgetting to turn off the stove.  My dad took him to the doctor and our fears and suspicions were confirmed.  Grandpa Joe had Alzheimer’s disease.

In the early stages of his disease he was forgetful and absent-minded but basically the same Grandpa Joe.   As time progressed, so did his illness.  Once a very patient man, he became irritable.  He eventually reached a point where he no longer remembered his family.  But even when he couldn't recall our names or how we were related to him, I always noticed his eyes light up when his family visited him.

Later in his illness, my grandpa packed a suitcase and left his home.  The police found him wandering down the busy main road.  When they picked him up and asked him where he was going, he informed them that he was going back home to Unna, the small town in Germany where he grew up.  That was when my family knew that my grandma could no longer care for him by herself and made the agonizing decision to put him in an assisted living facility.

To watch someone you love deteriorate before your eyes is an indescribably heart-rending experience.  As a teenager, I watched this happen to my grandpa, but I also watched my grandma, my dad and my uncle struggle with the extremely difficult decisions they had to make throughout the progression of the illness.  The first of these was telling my grandpa, a fiercely independent man, that he could no longer drive or handle the finances, and he could not go for his daily walks without a companion.  And ultimately, the hardest decision had to be made—finding him a safe place to live.  These decisions were made in the midst of the emotions that come with watching a husband/father/grandfather slip away.   The emotions can be uniquely painful and raw, and can run the gamut from grief--grieving the loss of your loved one although they are still physically with you; to guilt about taking away the freedoms of someone you love so much; to the occasional hope you may feel when your loved one has a lucid moment and seems to remember you; to the anger you may feel about this happening to your family.

When a loved one has a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease, the whole family is impacted.  It is important for family members to be there for each other and talk through your feelings.  And most importantly, be honest with yourself and each other about your loved one’s limitations so that sound decisions can be made about his/her care.  Outside support is available and encouraged.  

Although it can be painful to think about the person you’ve lost, it is cathartic to recall the good times and preserve the memory of that person at their strongest.  I know that’s what motorcycle-riding, soccer-playing, sand castle-building, family-loving Grandpa Joe would have wanted.


If you or someone you know can relate to these struggles, RCBM can help.  Please call (248) 608-8800 to set up an appointment.