by Allyson Smith
Imagine having someone you have known your entire life forget about you within the snap of a finger. Someone who raised you to appreciate thunderstorms, laugh at the little things, and to simply enjoy life. One day you might be laughing at memories and the next you could be helping them find their home. This is Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s is a type of dementia. It affects one’s memory, form of thinking, and typical behaviors. It is not a quickly formed disease, but rather built up over time, unnoticeable until people reach the age of 60 and up. While it directly affects one’s mind, it could arguably affect the people close to the one diagnosed more than the one who is diagnosed. I have learned this the hard way and am currently still learning from this slow mind-boggling disease. Valerie (Val) Jones is my neighbor, my childhood daycare provider, and a second mother. I have known her since the day I was born, and I am not the only person whose life Val has shaped. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of us, who know Valerie Jones. While Alzheimer’s has taken over her mind, body, and lifestyle, she is still the Val everyone knows, loves, and misses.
In order to understand the impact Val has made on the people surrounding her, we have to go back to her earlier years. Val was a short, blonde-haired, energetic kid, with the most infectious smile. She was an army kid, used to moving to multiple homes throughout the country, totaling fifteen different homes, from her youth until the age of eighteen. After graduating high school, she soon met Michael (Mike) Jones, the young, handsome, army soldier. She quickly married him, followed him throughout the country for a bit, then eventually, the two settled in the small town of Lisbon, Iowa. Mike got a job with Quaker Oats, and Val decided to be a stay-at-home mom to take care of her one, soon to be two, then eventually three, young boys. Taking care of her boys lead Val to opening up a home daycare service. This is where Val thrived. Her love and care for children were unmatched.
Val’s business became so successful that everyone wanted to be a part of it. From the chanting of “Go-Cubs-Go” after a Cubs win, the clean-up song, and movie Fridays, Val’s house was the place to be. Every time I walked into her home, I knew it was going to be a new day for imagination and adventure, whether it was raking a pile of leaves just to throw it all over the yard, playing with dolls, or acting like we were in a spaceship flying off into the unknown. Forty years in the business allowed Val to meet a ton of people and essentially allowed a ton of people to meet her. She took care of kids who have gone on to do amazing things, including doctors, farmers, journalists, teachers, engineers, even an NCAA national wrestling champion. Not a single soul within a twenty-mile radius does not know who Val Jones is.
My personal relationship with her started in May of 1999, the month I was born. She had already known my family due to being our neighbor, a close friend of my mom, and the daycare provider for my older sister. While my mom was on maternity leave, she would spend parts of her day with her friend Val, so this meant I there with them too. However, once her maternity leave was finished, it was time for me to officially become one of “Val’s Kids.” This started my adventure at Val’s house. This is where I learned that blocks are my favorite toys to play with, wiffle ball is the best summertime sport, and the 1980s film “The Goonies” is the best movie of all time. I also gained the nickname of “Ally-Wally-Winky-Dink,” or, if it were up to Mike, “Albert.” Life was good, my childhood was fun, and Val was a huge part of it.
It was the spring of 2016 when we saw the first signs of Alzheimer’s in Val. While my mom, Val, and the rest of their friend group were having their annual Friday night dinner, they had decided to play a new card game. It was slightly complicated, but nothing the normal person could not learn in a few minutes. As their night continued, she kept messing up throughout the game and asking the same questions over and over again. She eventually got so frustrated with the game, she got up and quit. This was not normal for Val, which made all of the moms start to wonder. Leading into the summer of that year, my mom and another neighbor saw more signs as Val started to visit our homes at random, tell us a story, leave, then visit later on in that same day and tell us the same story, forgetting she had already told us earlier. As we became more concerned, Val announced her retirement. We were sad to watch this happen as she struggled to make this decision, but she knew it was time to be done.
Once retired, Val became more and more of a regular in terms of visiting our homes. It was as if she were bored and had nothing to do, so she would walk over to see what we were up to. Whenever we were able to talk with her, we would ask her what she had planned for the day. She would claim that she had so much to do with paying bills, cleaning the house, and so on. Yet, she was never doing that stuff. At this point, we knew she had some form of dementia, we just were unsure if it were able to be identified. As this summer continued, and whenever we would visit at her house, there would be piles of mail on the kitchen counter, being constantly reorganized but never opened. This was the final straw. We sat down with her husband, Mike, and discussed the idea of taking her to a doctor to see if there was a diagnosis for what we were seeing. He quickly agreed, and within the next month, the doctors officially diagnosed Valerie Jones with Alzheimer’s disease.
The diagnosis was not taken lightly by anyone. It was the talk of the town because as I said earlier, everybody knew Val. This was the first time I was most treated like an adult, as people were constantly asking me questions about the diagnosis, her family, and her. I became a member of the side conversations on what we can do to make her and Mike’s life easier as they start to go through this. I had not realized how much people associated me with Val until this moment. While it was a shock to everyone, Val took the initial diagnosis the worst. For the next couple of weeks, she went into a comitative stage. She did not want to leave the house or see anyone because she was afraid of saying the wrong thing or being out of the loop, and she just became overall depressed. She knew there was nothing she could do to fix what was happening.
Once Val got out of her comatose stage, she became cautious. She started to become more dependent than ever, needing to know where her husband was at all times and to be within his vicinity. She would not dare to be alone, or else she would get upset. There were times when he would need to get something from a grocery store, or a part for a car, and he would leave her with us. He did this to get some alone time. It is not easy watching the woman you love forget everything she knows. Val staying with us was always fine for the first few minutes, but then she would start to ask “Where did Mike go?” or say things like, “Oh, I should probably get home for Mike.” We would have to stop her and remind her that he would be back soon, and this led to her getting sad that he was gone. It was comparable to a little kid crying that their parents left for work. It got so bad, that Mike could not leave her anymore. He had to take her with him wherever he went.
During this time, the shoelace conundrum had begun. Val had forgotten how to tie her shoes, so instead of telling someone or asking for help, she would pull them out and hide them around the house. This was because she did not want to see them, they frustrated her too much. She knew she could tie her shoes, but her mind had simply forgotten, her hand did not have the muscle memory anymore. This was particularly heartbreaking to me because Val is the person who taught me to tie my shoes. She had forgotten the one thing she taught all of her kids.
The shoelace debacle was the first consistent thing she forgot. Another issue was Val letting the dogs out and forgetting to put them back in. She would open the door for them to go outside, forget to put them in the fenced area, and they would run loose. Luckily, the dogs always stayed in our neighborhood. But not a single member of Fourth Avenue had not had to chase after their ten-year-old Yorkshire Terrier and their two-year-old Goldendoodle. As the dogs were constantly left outside, names started to go. I was not “Al”, “Albert”, “Ally-Wally-Winky-Dink”, or even “Ally” anymore. I had become “sweetie,” and so did all of her other previous daycare kids. There were too many of us to remember, so anytime we saw her it was always, “Hi Sweetie”. Her friends also took the hit on this issue. Instead of having their names, they were referred to as “my people”. She loved seeing her people. That infectious smile still grew every time she saw her people because she knew they were a part of her life.
By the end of 2019, Val had gone full Alzheimer’s. She only remembers her husband and her kids. She does not remember her kids’ spouses’ names or her grandchildren’s names. She knows of them and constantly reminds us of how beautiful they are but is unable to talk about them unless referring to them as her kids’ kids. Mike had decided to get rid of their puppy as it was too much for him to handle while also keeping watch on Val. It was a hard decision for him, but it was the right choice. Val is his top priority, no matter what the sacrifice he has to make. While it is tough to watch him go through this, it is a good reminder of how strong one’s love can be. He has been with her for fifty years, and he was not going to let anything ruin their marriage. He has made some major changes, such as moving their bedroom to the main floor as Val cannot walk up the stairs anymore. He has become in charge of Christmas gift and birthday shopping. He has to make the grocery decisions, clean the house, take care of all bills, and essentially became the overall house provider. He has taken on the roles she held for so long, but by this time, Val does not realize she has Alzheimer’s anymore. She just goes with the flow of things, sticking by Mike’s side, and rolling through life, although never without a smile on her face.
Val is happy because she does not feel the pain of forgetting anymore. She still recognizes faces, but only if Mike will be talking to that person first. She still knows that if someone is waving at her, she is to wave back, and luckily, provides that infectious smile every time she is acknowledged. Sadly, it is the people closest to her that are now taking this the worst. One of their kids avoids coming home because it hurts him too much to see his mother in this state. Another, who is a successful poker player, is constantly sending money to them because it is all he can contribute as he continues to work on the west coast. Their daughter, who lives near home, occasionally visits, but struggles every time. Their third son, who lives closest to home, visits the most because he knows when she sees him, it still brings joy to her heart, even though he is in pain from the situation.
Alzheimer’s has taken over Val’s life. Everyone continues to ask about her, but they have started to avoid running into her. Everybody wants to know how she is, but they do not want to see it for themselves. It is challenging watching someone forget everything they know. You want to help, but you cannot. There is nothing to fix, amend, or change. The only possible help is to be present and give support, whether to the person with Alzheimer’s or their loved ones.
All in all, we still love and care for Val, even if she has no clue who we are.
The Judson Mosaic 