Everybody Has a Story: A friendship continues, despite Alzheimer's

Susie, Minette and Roy are still the best of friends.

I miss Roy.

Not long after my husband and I moved into our Hazel Dell condominium, our next-door neighbor, Roy, told us he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. His symptoms seemed mild — not that different from my own annoying forgetfulness. That was three years ago.

Roy was the perfect neighbor: clean, quiet and, when we weren’t, forgiving. He had The Columbian newspaper delivered daily. By 9 in the morning, his paper had found its way to a neighbor’s door step. Twice a week, my husband and I were his grateful recipients. Roy’s routine generosity kept us sufficiently informed, our fireplace burning, and my kitchen tabletop safe from the grandchildren’s paint and clay projects.

On harried days, we shared simple greetings in passing; on slower days we shared family news; on our best days we shared a meal. Roy’s head of curly gray hair and casual gait were regular features within the landscape of our condos as he patrolled the sidewalks, smiling, chatting, welcoming — anxious to help where he could.

Whenever a trunk popped open in the parking lot, Roy popped out to carry groceries. Whether I was holed up inside or gone for the day, I felt comforted knowing Roy was on duty.

Then, not long ago, Joann, another neighbor in our building, found Roy wandering, disoriented, at the opposite end of the complex. Susie, another neighbor, discovered Roy’s home, always immaculate in the past, had fallen into disarray. Within a few weeks, Roy gave up his driver’s license and sold his car; newspapers stopped appearing at doorways; and finally Roy, too, disappeared from our sidewalks — too frightened to leave his home.

All of us felt his loss. All were concerned for his well-being.

I watched Roy’s longtime friends, anxious to help, come and go on a regular basis. They cleaned up his place. Got his finances in order. Made arrangements with Susie to see that Roy’s basic needs were met, at least for the time being. Naturally, Roy didn’t want to move. Yet he could no longer stay.

Soon, Roy was gone.

I never said goodbye. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His generosity and friendly greeting had become integral to my own sense of security. His disappearance was unsettling. One day I, too, will disappear from this neighborhood and the neighbors I’ve grown to love.

Has Roy adjusted to his new home? Is he making friends? Is he happy?

Yesterday, Susie let me tag along while she went to pick Roy up from Highgate Manor, a senior living community in Hazel Dell. She planned to take him to the same barber he has patronized for the past 35 years. We peeked inside Roy’s Highgate apartment. Fresh smelling, clean, and tidy — just the way Roy always kept his home. But he wasn’t there. We found him amongst a group of ladies (naturally!) doing their morning exercises in the multipurpose room. It was our same Roy. His smile as big as his heart, warming everyone else’s. As we dawdled on our way out the door, a chorus of cheerful goodbyes followed us. And we headed for the barber, laughing.

It soothed my soul to see Roy happy again. I look forward to my next visit.

EVERYBODY HAS A STORY welcomes nonfiction contributions (800 words maximum) and accompanying photographs. E-mail is best so we don’t have to retype your words or borrow original photos. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver, WA 98666.