by Kay Heitsch
I will never hear "Silent Night" and not think of Fran*. No matter where Fran was, you could hear her humming the first two bars of "Silent Night." This constant humming of only the first two bars of this beautiful melody could be annoying. Knowing that Fran had Alzheimer's helped me forgive her repetitive humming.
I remember Fran when she first lived in the "Memory Care" unit. She was a tall, nice-looking woman. Like most residents, Fran often walked, humming "Silent Night." Fran had quite an eye for any man who came into the unit. I would always tease her and tell her to let me know if any "good-looking" guys came in.
Fran and I developed a special friendship. You never know how long the progression of this disease will take. For Fran, it seemed like she went downhill very quickly. It wasn't long before she stopped talking and only hummed the first two bars of "Silent Night."
It wasn't long before she was unable to walk. She went from a regular wheelchair to a wheelchair that would recline, as she was unable to sit up anymore. My heart would break to see her lounging in the chair, staring up at the ceiling but still humming the two bars of "Silent Night."
Whenever I walked by her, I would stop and give her a little kiss on her forehead. I would also give her hand a slight squeeze. There would never be any response.
About a week before Christmas, I walked over to Fran as she was reclining in the wheelchair. As usual, I kissed her on the forehead and took her hand. She turned her head, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I love you. And I like you too." I was stunned! Fran hadn't spoken in months. Tears filled my eyes as I told Fran I loved and liked her. The following day, Fran passed on.
I stopped by the funeral home for Fran's calling hours. Christmas was only a few days away. As I walked in, I noticed her family had a small Christmas tree sitting on a table. A note asked each person to decorate the tree with some tinsel they had in a box sitting on the table. The family said Christmas had been Fran's favorite holiday, and she always had a tree with tinsel on it.
I could not attend Fran's funeral, but her family shared with me that the carol "Silent Night" would be playing as people passed by her casket to pay their last respects. I know Fran would have been pleased, and I'm sure she was humming along in Heaven.
*Name has been changed.
I remember Fran when she first lived in the "Memory Care" unit. She was a tall, nice-looking woman. Like most residents, Fran often walked, humming "Silent Night." Fran had quite an eye for any man who came into the unit. I would always tease her and tell her to let me know if any "good-looking" guys came in.
Fran and I developed a special friendship. You never know how long the progression of this disease will take. For Fran, it seemed like she went downhill very quickly. It wasn't long before she stopped talking and only hummed the first two bars of "Silent Night."
It wasn't long before she was unable to walk. She went from a regular wheelchair to a wheelchair that would recline, as she was unable to sit up anymore. My heart would break to see her lounging in the chair, staring up at the ceiling but still humming the two bars of "Silent Night."
Whenever I walked by her, I would stop and give her a little kiss on her forehead. I would also give her hand a slight squeeze. There would never be any response.
About a week before Christmas, I walked over to Fran as she was reclining in the wheelchair. As usual, I kissed her on the forehead and took her hand. She turned her head, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I love you. And I like you too." I was stunned! Fran hadn't spoken in months. Tears filled my eyes as I told Fran I loved and liked her. The following day, Fran passed on.
I stopped by the funeral home for Fran's calling hours. Christmas was only a few days away. As I walked in, I noticed her family had a small Christmas tree sitting on a table. A note asked each person to decorate the tree with some tinsel they had in a box sitting on the table. The family said Christmas had been Fran's favorite holiday, and she always had a tree with tinsel on it.
I could not attend Fran's funeral, but her family shared with me that the carol "Silent Night" would be playing as people passed by her casket to pay their last respects. I know Fran would have been pleased, and I'm sure she was humming along in Heaven.
*Name has been changed.
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