I was well on my way to making a mess of that cake. I nearly burnt the chocolate melting on stove because I was so distracted and anxious. I couldn’t follow the recipe or figure out whether I was supposed to cream the butter and then add the sugar and eggs, or vice versa. There I was, stiff and awkward in my own kitchen. My in-laws were coming for dinner and chocolate cake is one of my father-in-law’s favorite desserts. I wanted so hard to get it just right.
Stanley has Alzheimer’s disease and he’d had a difficult afternoon in a paranoid, delusional kind of a way. We weren’t even sure if he would leave his house to join us for the meal.
He’s in what they call ‘severe cognitive decline’. It’s the last stage before he loses touch all with the world. Soon, and nobody knows when, he won’t be able to respond or interact with his environment; his power of speech will be gone and so will the control over his body.
For all the years I’ve known my in-laws, they’ve been a pleasure to cook for. They appreciate good food, they’re interesting, engaging people and Stanley in particular likes to eat and has a sweet tooth. At the end of every meal, he’d say to me, ‘Alice, that was the best – (whatever it was) — that I’ve ever had.’ And we’d all laugh — it’s his standard line, he uses it every time and even so, the flattery always gets me.
There is still something left of the man I know – I can see it in his eyes during a calm spell. Then something happens. I don’t know what or why but he has these hallucinations. It might be an emotional reaction to something that didn’t happen or isn’t real. Like when his wife leaves for the market and he’s convinced she’s dead. Or he could see or hear, smell or even taste something that’s not there. Now at meals he always asks what it is he’s eating even while he’s eating it. He’ll chew and swallow and then ask again. The good thing is, at least, he’s still eating.
They did make it over for dinner and after dessert he declared, right on cue, that ‘that was the best chocolate cake’ he’d ever had. And then he let out a whoop and a holler of genuine delight and pleasure. It’s weird and maybe ironic — how the cruel mental strangulation of Alzheimer’s has in a way, freed him to express exactly what he feels at any given moment, without boundaries or filters, even when he’s having horrifying thoughts. For all I know, maybe he was tasting chocolate like it was the first chocolate that he’d ever had in his life. It was like watching someone experience pure, unadulterated joy at the simplest of things — even if it lasted only for a minute because then he took out his wallet and emptied it into his water glass.
My rage and helplessness against Alzheimer’s are futile, exhausting things and there’s no one, nothing to blame. I wish there was.
The next morning I indulged and had a slice of cake for breakfast. I closed my eyes and tried my best to eat it like it was the first chocolate cake that I’d ever had. But I couldn’t. All I could taste was dry and crumbling grief.
originally broadcast January 21, 2004
