Alzheimer’s. We all know the descriptions — indiscriminate, progressive, cruel, ravaging. As one whose wife, Lisa, is in the last stages of the disease, I can testify to the accuracy of each of them. No words can portray the anguish that a spouse endures through the course of this disease.

Although a confirmed opponent of both assisted suicide and euthanasia, I was beginning to empathize with their proponents. Recent weeks at Lisa’s assisted living residence have involved unintelligible, nonstop conversation followed by an inability to communicate at any level, seemingly endless staring into space, lashing out at the caring staff whom she sees as harassing and oppressive, insisting I am not her husband and then virtually shoving me out the door . . . the list goes on. The mind wants to say: this person I have loved for so long is barely human; her life is meaningless; she should be dead.

Until the other day. . . .

Lisa has always loved story telling and when she is in a good mood I often read to her from one of her favorite books, American Indian folk tales. The reading level is young adult, the language and sentence structure definitely mature. The other day she wanted none of my reading. Suddenly she picked up the book and began to read to me. For twenty minutes she read the entire story with understanding, appropriate inflection and genuine feeling. Impossible! concludes her all-knowing husband.

Minutes later a young woman (I’ll call her Helen) came to our table. Helen suffers from severe brain damage and a crippled body due to a bicycle accident. Her facial expression is almost zombie-like. Lisa seemed to read something in that face and instinctively reacted. She made compassionate eye contact and then reached out to Helen with welcoming arms. Helen stood up, started to respond but then withdrew and sat down. Lisa again made eye contact and again reached out. This time Helen got up, leaned across the table, and tentatively grasped Lisa’s hands. One could see the slightest expression of recognition and gratitude breaking through. I am told that Helen has never made real contact with anyone at this residence.

Yes, suffering and disease are mysteries; indeed life itself is a mystery. I stop trying to fathom the unfathomable, God’s plan for each of us. That there is such a plan I question no longer.

Joseph Murray is a retired professor living in Waterford.