Prayers Answered

I'm not exactly sure when it started, or how, and I didn't see it ending until it had.

People at church would thank me for a card, for remembering their birthday or for a note of gratitude for a gift they'd given. Sometimes it was a word of encouragement they'd received, perhaps a celebration of an anniversary or some life event. Maybe it was a note of sympathy and condolence.

"Could you read it?" I'd ask. If their response was that the words were legible, then I'd admit that it wasn't me. It was, I assured them, from my beloved.

She'd sign them Herb & Regina, maybe The Flanders, allowing me to share in the simple, wonderful blessing that always came in a mailbox, always with a US postage stamp affixed, always handwritten. It was her thing, her ministry, her way of connecting. Day after day, note after note, she kept writing and licking stamps and sending love out with the mail truck.

Then, one day, I realized the red flag on our mailbox was never raised. She wasn't asking me to please carry a few cards out as I left in the morning. Just like I can't point to the first note, the first card, to the moment it became her calling, I also can't point to when it ended. The whole thing, sadly, just snuck up on me.

That dreaded word Alzheimer's meant that our family would watch her slip away into what I've called The Misty Fog. This was just one part. It was taking her hearing, her ability to receive words and then accurately processing them and, then, cruelly, it impacted her language and speech, making it difficult for her to communicate whatever was in her mind. Tasks became more challenging, even daunting, to the point that some things, like note writing and cooking, keeping up with our finances and paying the bills, these things she'd done forever and so well - they . . . just . . . STOPPED.

I thought about taking up the writing myself, you know, carrying it on in her name. But that seemed like I was stealing something from her, like I was trying to replace her. Frankly, I realized I wasn't up to the task. It felt kind of like trying to take Michael Jordan's place on the court, or Nick Saban's on the sideline. So, the cards and stamps sat lonely in their box.

Dr. Mayville prescribed first a medication called Donepezil. Don't ask me what it's doing inside her brain; all I know is that it's supposed to somehow hopefully speed up the neuro activity so she can retrieve a memory or thought more quickly. After three months taking it without negative side effects, Dr. Mayville added a second drug, Memantine, which is designed to work in concert with the Donepezil. She's been taking the two together for a couple of months now.

During this time, we started using a device called Lingraphica. It's about the size of an iPad and is designed to assist with speech. We're just getting accustomed to it, but doing so seems to be like weightlifting for muscles; it's extra stimulation and brain activity. That's supposed to help both now and in the future. We hope, right?

Plus, there's Victoria Maxwell, a therapist with Expressable, an online speech therapy provider. For 30 minutes each week, she checks in on how Regina is doing and leads her through exercises to get her brain revving. She gives her hints on how to improve her communication, on how to find the words she's grasping for. She even gives me insight into how I and others can support Regina. Most of all, she's full of the three Es - empathy, enthusiasm, and encouragement. When we wrap up a session, Regina blows her a kiss, via Zoom, and tells her she loves her. Victoria calls herself a speech therapist; my beloved would tell you she's an angel.

And there's been a ton of prayers lifted that included Regina's name. Alzheimer's, we know, is progressive and degenerative, and neither the medication or the device or the therapy are designed or expected to "reverse" it. Sure, I've prayed for a Red Sea miracle, as have others, but we know Red Seas don't get parted every day. So, a lot of those prayers have been for things more ordinary, you know, for understanding and patience and for day to day improvement coming from medicine and therapy and such.

One day, I realized her writing stuff was spread across the table, along with her Bible (she never stopped reading it, though reading can be a challenge, too). Then, I found an addressed, stamped envelope waiting beside my keys and wallet - a clear indication I was being asked to take it to the mailbox. Somebody at church mentioned they'd gotten a birthday card. She started calling Angela in the church office to get addresses. Yesterday, it was a stack of four or five cards.

I hope the people who receive those cards know they've received a gift - not just from my beloved, but also from Dr. Christina Mayville and from the makers of drugs that have amazing effects and from the creators of Lingraphica and from the people at Blue Cross Blue Shield Insurance for providing us with all this and from an angel named Victoria Maxwell down in Valdosta, Georgia who shows up on our computer screen each week. I hope those recipients know they've gotten even more than a gift. They've gotten an answer to prayer.