Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
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I arrive at about 8 a.m. when the secure doors can be opened. I walk into my wife’s room and find her asleep in bed. I kiss her on the forehead. She wakes, sees me and smiles. The smile is precious because, seconds later, tears flow as though her brain reminds her that she has Alzheimer’s and is in long-term care.
Ena has been on this journey for six years. Until two years ago we managed at home and even travelled with friends. Then she fell breaking her hip, and a second fall in rehabilitation dashed any hopes of her walking again.
Her long-term care home has an entertainer scheduled for this afternoon so I take Ena down to the ground floor where he has begun playing the guitar and singing popular oldies.
I steer Ena near the front and sit beside her. The performer is singing John Denver’s Country Roads. I whisper to Ena that we often played it as we drove through West Virginia to spend winters in South Carolina. After a while he asks for requests.
“Leaving on a Jet Plane!" I blurt out. This is another magical song from our past.
“I think I know that one,” he says. Soon the familiar tune fills the air and it’s obvious he knows it well. Ena is smiling and mouthing some words, despite her memory deficiency. My eyes moisten listening to our song.
Alzheimer’s means my mom falls in love with her favourite movie stars all over again
Ena and I met in a tavern on Bloor Street in Toronto on Aug. 25, 1969. Ena was on holiday from Scotland visiting her brother and I had emigrated to Canada from England a few months earlier. I was with work colleagues and Ena with girls she had met on the plane coming over. The two groups were close together and during the evening I talked to Ena – her Scottish accent was attractive – but her friends left without telling her. I offered to drive her back to her brother’s place just north of downtown. During the drive we talked more and I asked her to dinner the following evening.
We had a lovely dinner at La Chaumiere, a French restaurant, followed by a visit to the Ports of Call, both popular spots in the city at that time. I learned Ena was flying back to Scotland in just four days. We spent the remaining evenings together, including a visit to Niagara Falls. I arranged to drive her to the airport for her flight home. We worried that our blossoming relationship might end before we knew if it had a future.
On the way to the airport, a song came on the radio that grabbed our attention. It was Leaving on a Jet Plane, a song written by John Denver but sung by Peter, Paul and Mary. The lyrics captured our emotions.
Kiss me and smile for me / Tell me that you’ll wait for me / Hold me like you’ll never let me go /‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane / Don’t know when I’ll be back again / Oh baby, I hate to go
Later that evening I watched her plane disappear into the night sky.
We corresponded over the next several months – 85 letters between us that we still have today. Ena emigrated to Canada the following June and we were married back in Scotland in December, 1970. We are grateful for a good life together, blessed with two children, their spouses and four grandsons.
But that was then.
My job as a fake patient is an exercise in improvisation and empathy
The next week we go to hear Rick perform again. By now we’ve introduced ourselves and told him our connection to the song. Rick sees us and tells the audience: “Now for a great song and there is a lovely story to go with it. Chris, would you tell them?”
I am surprised. Nevertheless, I stand up and summarize our story for the audience. Rick begins to sing.
All my bags are packed and I’m ready to go...
On an impulse I bend down to Ena’s wheelchair and remove the footrests. I wheel her to the open area beside Rick and begin dancing with her. We go back and forth in time with the music. We circle and as I gain confidence I spin her around. Ena’s face is a picture. Her eyes are sparkling and she is beaming with delight.
We are enjoying ourselves and I sense the audience, many of whom are in wheelchairs, are enjoying it, too. Others, seeing and hearing what is happening, come to look. The song finishes and applause breaks out. We look around to smiling faces.
This is a special moment for us. No more jet planes for Ena, but we will have more dances!
Chris Chorlton lives in Mississauga, Ont.