The Forgotten Bond: A Story About A Father With Dementia—and His 100-Year-Old Girlfriend

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Speaker 1: And we returned to Our American Stories. Up next, a story, a love story, courtesy of Gina Ramsey, entitled “The Forgotten Bond.” Take it away, Gina.

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Speaker 2: As our car rolled up the long driveway, my heart ached. He needed twenty-four-to-seven supervision and care. Our only option was to admit him to Happy Hearts Assisted Living. My husband Paul and I sat with the facility director in a private room to complete the admission. Clyde looked directly at me, scowling. His eyes pierced into me as he said, “Why can’t I keep living with you?” My heart sank. “Dad, we have to work in the office again. I can’t be home with you anymore.” We had already given him this explanation several times, but he had no recollection due to his advancing dementia. The silent treatment began. He stared away, ignoring us for the remainder of the admission. We caused him pain at the deepest level. Though at times challenging, caring for someone with dementia does have some perks. We visited Clyde the next day. Surprisingly, we found he had quickly acclimated to his new surroundings. He was perky, smiling, and engaged with the other residents, particularly the women. Two ladies became especially fond of Clyde, stopping at nothing to snag a seat next to this kind, funny, and gentleman. It was May who would eventually steel his heart. May was a lovely lady, approximately five foot four inches tall, with short, silver roller set hair, adorned with a big smile. Her eyes twinkled behind her bifocal lenses. Wherever Clyde went, she followed. Each time we visited, we’d find them sitting together outside or in the sunroom, chatting, smiling, and giggling. They were inseparable and smitten with each other, as if they were back in high school again. Each Sunday, when we picked up Clyde for our family dinner, May’s heart would break. She would give him a kiss and say, “I’m going to miss you very much. Please promise you’ll come back to me.” Clyde would reassure her with a smile. After we left, the staff had to deal with the aftermath, passing uncountable boxes of Kleenex to May as she cried a pool of tears, fearful that Clyde would not return as promised. A few hours later, May would be waiting as our car pulled into the driveway. Her beautiful smile would appear once again. We sat with Clyde and May in the sunroom. One day she leaned over to me and said, “I want to tell you something. I’m one hundred years old. Now, do you know he is the reason I am still alive? He brings me so much joy. I can’t imagine life without him.” I often wondered what would happen if one of them suffered a health emergency. What would happen to the other? A year later, Paul’s phone rang. “It’s Happy Hearts,” he stated. My chest became heavy. We had never received a call from Happy Hearts at this time of the day. I knew it had to be something serious. After a brief conversation, Paul hung up the phone and immediately headed for our bathroom, stating, “My dad fell, and his elbows bleeding pretty bad.” We have to get over there with urgency. We quickly dressed, brushed our teeth and hair, and headed out the door. Upon arrival, staff rushed us into Clyde’s room, where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, flat on his face. I knelt down in front of him and placed my hand on his right knee. “Hey, Dad, we’re here now. What happened?” He looked straight through me. He did not respond. “It looks like you scraped your elbow a bit. We are going to take you to the doctor to have it looked at.” After a barrage of tests at the emergency room, we were informed that he had had a stroke and would need to be hospitalized. His cognition and physical state made it doubtful that he would ever be able to return to Happy Hearts. As his care needs exceeded what they were equipped to manage, we made the difficult decision to officially discharge him. Paul went to Happy Hearts to update the staff and pick up Clyde’s personal items. There was no sign of May anywhere. Paul informed the director about how withdrawn and confused Clyde had become since the fall. We couldn’t determine if it was the residuals from the stroke, worsening of the dementia, or both. She gave recommendations of a few area nursing homes which she considered reputable. With a wink, she said, “Perhaps one day fate will reunite them again.” Putting two and two together, we were certain May had been admitted to one of the recommended nursing homes. Paul brought Clyde’s belongings to our home. I found a handwritten note card in a basket full of greeting cards Clyde had saved. It read, “My dear Clyde, I miss you so much. Please come back to me. Love, your May.” Of course, perhaps he’s missing May, I thought to myself. On our way to visit Clyde at the hospital that day, I was scrolling on my phone. Paul asked me, “What are you looking for?” “I’m searching for a photo of May. He’ll remember her. I know it with all my heart.” May had previously been interviewed by the local paper about her amazing feet of living for an entire century. I was convinced seeing a photo of her would cheer him up and perhaps bring back some clarity. Paul shrugged. He wasn’t convinced Clyde would remember May, especially since he hadn’t mentioned her since having the stroke. While in the hospital room, I said, “Dad, I have a picture to show you.” I showed him a photo of May on my phone screen. “Who is the special lady, Dad?” Clyde stared at the screen for what felt like a lifetime and responded, “She looks familiar, but I don’t know who she is. Who is she?” “That’s May, Dad,” I responded, hoping my attempt to jar his memory would work. “Oh, yeah,” he responded, frankly, as if I had just shown him a photo of a random guy standing at a bus stop. His eyes shifted back to the baseball game on the television. The progressing dementia had become brutally apparent. This horrible disease completely erased May from his memory. While being in the passenger seat of Clyde’s failing cognition, we’ve learned the importance of navigating life one moment at a time. He took us along on a journey in time when his beautiful May was his everything. We’ve now had to shift gears, acclimating to the notion that in his mind, she never existed. Dementia is so cruel and unforgiving, stripping its victim of precious moments. We recently found out about May’s passing in the local paper. Many might say she died of old age; I’m convinced she died from a broken heart. The companionship between May and Clyde found in each other was beautiful. Even though dementia had stolen the memory of May from Clyde, our family continues to reflect on their special bond that kept them youthful and vibrant, if even for a brief period of time.

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Speaker 1: And a special thanks for the writing, production, and editing on this story to Reagan Habibe and Monty Montgomery. And a special thanks to Gina Ramsey, who’s a student of one of our frequent contributors, Leslie Leyland Fields. And Gina just told us a heck of a story—a story that so many Americans are going through right now. If you’re in your forties, your fifties, you’re dealing with taking care of your parents and taking care of your kids—what we like to call the sandwich—and boy is it tough. But to get to see and witness beautiful things like this in the throes of the onset of dementia—to see love take hold, even at an age like one hundred, and to see people die of broken hearts—it’s tough to see, but beautiful as well. A special thanks again to Gina for sharing this story, and if you have stories like it, please send them to Our American Stories. You are the hour in the show: the story of Clyde and May here on Our American Stories.