I met Norma on a blind date in June of 1957. She wore a dress with short puffed sleeves and a billowing full skirt. She was feminine from the top of her shiny brown hair to the tip of her saddle oxfords. She was the valedictorian of her class and seemed serious until her smile lit up her face and twinkled in her deep-chocolate eyes. I wasn’t the only one that knew this girl was special—her class at Westphalia voted her the neatest dressed girl with the best personality.
I decided after a few dates that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful lady. Here I was, Ted, the prankster, setting my sights on a demure, intelligent lady. Two years later she walked down the aisle toward me wearing a flowing white wedding gown. In October 1959, we promised, in front of a large crowd of family and friends, that only death would part us. The first year or so of our marriage was pretty rough as we learned to adjust to each other. We both wanted to live mostly the “me” life instead of the “we” life. Norma was involved in church, and I spent too much time bowling or playing poker. The loss of our first child at birth helped steer us in the right direction. We found we needed each other more than we needed our individual pursuits.
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"It took awhile for Norma |
Twelve years and two sons later, we were invited to make a Marriage Encounter. I was skeptical about going, but Norma wanted to, so I went. We came home from that weekend with new-found love. Through this program, we learned to put each other first. We formed a permanent bond that will never be broken. This is not to say our life was perfect, but we came to an understanding of our differences and gained respect for each other’s views.
A few months after our Encounter, we were asked to be a team couple to help give weekend Marriage Encounter programs in Jefferson City. We stepped into a new area as no Weekend had ever been given in our town. My reaction to being asked this was, “You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve never talked in front of a group before.”
The man said, “No, I’m not kidding. I know you can do it.”
We went to Peoria for training, and in March of 1975, we were part of the first team to give a Weekend in Jefferson City. One of the highlights of that weekend was the reaction of a participant when he saw eight-month pregnant Norma and another very pregnant lady. He said, “I think I’m at the wrong place.” After we assured him this had nothing to do with the weekend, he decided to stay.Many years later, in 1988, when Norma was 49, I began to notice a difference in her. She could no longer do certain tasks and had trouble remembering things. She asked me questions about even small things that she could easily figure out before.
“Where’s the ironing board?” she asked one day.
“Same place it’s always been,” I replied. Seeing the blank expression on her face, I said, “The back closet.”
As her confusion progressed, we knew something was wrong and decided to get it checked. Norma underwent memory testing at Barnes in St. Louis. Unsatisfied with that program, we went to a neurologist in Kansas City for further testing. Norma and I were both nervous as we drove to Kansas City. Norma sat quietly in the seat beside me, occasionally brushing her hands across her slacks as if to smooth wrinkles that didn’t exist.
We were ushered into the doctor’s office. After the pleasantries, she began her exam by asking Norma, “What town is this?”
Norma hesitated, and then replied, “St. Louis?”
“Norma, we’re in Kansas City,” I said.
The doctor rebuked me. “I’m asking Norma these questions.”
After seven trips to Kansas City, the neurologist decided on a diagnosis. She delivered the news in a kind tone, as if that would make it easier for us. “Norma, you are in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”
Norma never said anything. We left the doctor’s office and walked across the parking lot to our car. I opened the door of our Chevy Caprice for my distraught wife. Tears flowed down her cheeks making wet splotches on her blouse. “Why me, Lord?” she repeatedly asked.
When we got home, we sat at our dining room table. We stared at the cherry wood as if we thought we might see some answers in it.
“Norma, I’ll take care of you at home as long as I possibly can,” I promised. “Once the burden gets too heavy, I’ll have to do something different.”
Norma looked me in the eye and said, “That is exactly what I want.”
This was the most important conversation she and I ever had. It was a promise given and acknowledged to do what worked best for the two of us. We were in this together.
I took care of Norma in our home for seven years. In the fall of 2000, I had my annual doctor’s appointment. He took one look at me and asked when I was going to make the decision to put Norma in long-term care.
“I didn’t think you would support me in that decision,” I said.
“Ted, you have two choices - put Norma in full-time care, or make your funeral arrangements. At the rate you are going, you won’t be around long.”
I knew the doctor was right. I was completely worn out from sleepless nights and worry that Norma would get lost from running away from daycare.
In February 2001, I placed Norma in long-term care. Six weeks later I was in the hospital undergoing bypass surgery from the stress I had been going through. While I recovered from surgery, I became good at beating myself up for the guilt I felt for putting her in a nursing home. I became depressed and looked at everything in a gloomy way. This lasted for about eight months—feeling sorry for myself and only seeing the bad side of life.
One day, as I was sitting in one of my “pity parties,” I started thinking I was tired of living this way, and needed to do something good with my life. I called the local Alzheimer’s office and told them I was going to volunteer for them in the future. I instantly felt better because I was doing something productive.
Along with volunteering, I began to attend a support group. The group sessions are uplifting and fulfilling. They never give me any answers, but I am in a better frame of mind after the sessions and am able to find my own solutions.
On October 3, 1959, Norma and I vowed before God and men that we would take each other in “good times and in bad—in sickness and health, until death do us part.” I plan to live up to that promise. Norma lives in a different home than I do now, but I still keep my promise to take care of her. I take charge of her care plan, visit her almost daily, and feed her lunch.
Even though Norma’s body has been changed by more than eighteen years of Alzheimer’s, and is only a microcosm of before, I will never cast her off. She is still the most beautiful person I have ever seen—and sometimes, when I look in her deep-chocolate eyes, I see the beautiful girl I met fifty years ago.Norma and Ted Distler will celebrate their 50th Wedding Anniversary on October 3, 2009. "Looking back over the last 50 years, if I could have forseen our lives I still wouldn't have made any changes because the good times certainly outweighed the bad, " reflected Ted.
Norma was diagnosed with younger onset Alzheimer's disease 21 years ago. She was 49.
"Promises to Keep" by Ted Distler and Linda Fisher
Published in "Alzheimer's Anthology of Unconditional Love," a series of stories collected and published by Linda Fisher in 2007 in collaboration with the Alzheimer's Association Mid-Missouri Chapter. Copies of this book are available at the chapter office for purchase. Proceeds benefit the Alzheimer's Association Mid-Missouri Chapter.
