Sarah B Smith

In 2009, Sarah Smith and her family drove from Dallas to Houston to visit her parents over Thanksgiving. She offered to do some early Christmas-present wrapping with her mother, and noticed that her mum was having trouble tying ribbons. The older woman kept making a fist and rubbing her forearm. She also reported she’d had numbness and tingling in her hand for some time. Sarah feared the worst: a brain tumour, perhaps. Unfortunately, her mother, then aged 64 and seemingly “fit as a fiddle”, was extremely stubborn and refused to see a doctor. Soon, she was having troubles with numbers, often subtracting a final zero from a figure. On one shopping trip with a friend, she racked up a $1500 bill for make-up. She had thought the total read $150. Fine motor skills also suffered. She couldn’t write her name. She also became increasingly restless and irritable. A diagnosis of Early-Onset Alzheimer’s Disease was made in 2012. The neurologist was certain that Sarah’s mother, called “Beauty” by her grandchildren, had actually had the disease for some years. In E.O.A.D., decline is swifter than Alzheimer’s that manifests later in life. Beauty would likely need to be taken into care in five to seven years.

Smith documents her father’s efforts at moving his wife from Houston to Dallas, where they could be close to Sarah and one of Sarah’s brothers. Family support would be critical in dealing with this challenging diagnosis. Once installed in her new, smaller home, however, Beauty became increasingly agitated. Sarah’s dad often took her out on neighbourhood walks, but no sooner were they back home than she’d be demanding to go on another, entirely forgetting she’d already been out. She dangerously moved heavy furniture up and down stairs on a regular basis, scratching floors and walls, and becoming irrationally angry if anyone tried to stop her. At times, she escaped from the house and become disoriented. One time, campus police at the local university had to bring her home on their cart. She knew neither her address nor her phone number, but the police reasoned she might recognize her house if they drove around a bit. She did.

One of the biggest problems at this time was that Beauty developed a sudden extreme craving for alcohol. Neither of Sarah’s parents, straight-and-narrow Christians that they were, had consumed alcohol in years, so this was quite the thing. (It occurs to me that Beauty was perhaps, in her own way, trying to calm her agitation. After all, alcohol is a depressant.) Sarah’s husband, Thad, had overcome alcoholism some years before. It was Sarah’s firm belief that God “completely [and “magically”—I might sardonically add] took away Thad’s desire for alcohol”. Sarah appeared to believe God might be prayerfully prevailed upon to do a repeat performance.

It was around this point in reading—the 20% mark—that I decided I could not finish Smith’s memoir, which is plainly intended for a Christian audience. (Unfortunately, the description on Net galley did not make this clear.) The ongoing references to “God’s abiding love”, “His daily miracles”, and so on just became too much for me. I also found the writing saccharine and cliché ridden at times. My personal reaction was to find a lot of the religiosity a form of denial. There are obviously many ways to be in the world. Smith’s religious faith clearly gives her comfort, but I cannot relate to it in the least, and found myself growing increasingly annoyed by the Christian references. Potential readers, even non-religious ones, may still find the book valuable if they are willing to look past the book’s evangelical slant.

I wish the author well. She has clearly had a trying and heartbreaking time of it.… (més)