Sally

Sally had always thought she would live as long as her aunts, one of whom almost made it to one hundred and one who lived into her nineties. She may yet, but where those ladies were independent, Sally, unfortunately, will not be, barring radical new breakthroughs in the treatment of Alzheimer’s.

She had moved here five years ago from Indianapolis at the age of 71 about the time that her granddaughter turned one year old. At first she was an enthusiastic caretaker for the child. After a two or three years though, she began to have a much harder time keeping up, and so spent less and less time alone with the child.

Around that time, she began to talk to her son about moving back to Indianapolis and “going back to work” as an actress. In mid-life she had revived a career as an actress. She worked in print modeling, stage, radio, television, and some small films. But the work was slowing down and so was Sally. Her kids thought that she was moving down to Bloomington to retire, and did not anticipate she would leave. She had a great friends and community at a church right across the street. She had great neighbors and lived a couple of blocks from her granddaughter.

But she was becoming very unhappy. She was also repeating herself a lot. She had auditions in Indianapolis and twice failed to make them because she got lost. She made it to an IRT open audition but blanked out when she got on stage and left, unable to do her reading.

Her kids began to notice more memory problems. Her depression deepened. She began to be suspicious of “a kid” in the neighborhood, whom she said she could tell there was “something just not right” about. The “kid” was a 50-something alcoholic who shambles about the town, so she was right about part of that assessment. She began hiding things from the people she thought were breaking into her house, then forgetting where she had hidden them or even that she had hidden in the first place.

Rarely had she ever shown much anger in her life, even in the face of great adversity, but began to have angry outbursts about being “trapped” in Bloomington and “wasting her life” down here while she could be up “working.”

Eventually, after several consults with mental health professionals and repeated attempts to get her to try some medications, which failed, her kids decided to move her back to Indianapolis and have her move in with her daughter.

The day of the move came, and after her son loaded all her possessions into a truck, she asked “Now what are we doing?”

The Monday after the move to Indianapolis she left the house on foot and had to be brought back by the police. She got lost a week later (again on foot), for 9 hours. She had blisters on her feet the size of quarters. Two days later she flew into a rage because her daughter had hidden her car keys and wouldn’t let her drive.

New prescriptions have been written. A new high tech ID bracelet is on order. But it may all be too late. Sally now lives in Indianapolis, but still talks about returning there, which her children now realize, too late, is an imaginary place that Sally dreamed of as a child in Kokomo.

Families, please talk to one another. Make plans for this all-too common problem. Face the possibility that this could happen to your family before it is too late for your Sally