Articles by and about Tim Brennan. Below you will find a collection of articles written by and about Tim Brennan. Through Tim's insight we can all put a face on the mystery that is Alzheimer's Disease. The following articles are in reverse chronological order with the most recent first. Scroll down for each precedeing article. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, December 31, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION A message of love from TIM BRENNAN Series: SENIORITY; LIVING WITH ALZHEIMER'S TIM BRENNAN Last month staff writer John Cutter brought you up to date on the life of TIM BRENNAN, who had written a series of columns for Seniority about his journey with ALZHEIMER'S. Brennan, who lives in Michigan, began writing in May 1995 and wrote what he believed would be his final column in May 1996. This month Tim found himself able to share his thoughts again. It is harder to write now. This is not a complaint. It is an observation. I can still talk, at least until I tire mentally. I cannot hide my weakness. Recently, a good friend of mine died. He had ALZHEIMER'S disease. His death reminds me that what little I have must be put to use. So I meet with those who are like me. Some of them can no longer speak or write. My wife, Peggy, and I also have been giving a presentation called "Prolonging Mental Life" to ALZHEIMER'S patients, caregivers and the medical profession. Often during these talks, I am asked how people can better relate to ALZHEIMER'S patients. I steal my reply from a parable by Confucius: Learn from all things and all people. One person I learn from is my friend, Jim, who has a later version of AD. Jim has difficulty walking. He tires quickly. Jim displays some Parkinson's disease symptoms. He doesn't say much, usually preferring to answer "yes" or "no" to questions asked. Jim's daughters tell me their dad likes to hear me speak. He smiles frequently when I talk. We shake hands after a meeting. We may even hug. Jim shows us his love. I continue to learn, even from those who can no longer adequately express themselves aloud. Someday those who care for an ALZHEIMER'S patient may be faced with what appears to be an unresolvable problem. He or she may have tried everything they have been taught and nothing has worked. So, he or she touches the arm of the patient and speaks softly and gently. Because of a patient's apparent distress, that person may have even hugged the patient or kissed him or her on the forehead or cheek and told the patient that he or she was loved. One day, if he or she is lucky, a revelation occurs. The caregiver learns that the last thing we ever lose is love. Our memories may be gone. Intellect and logic may not exist. We may have forgotten your name and where we are and what we are doing. We remember love. The talks Peggy and I give are little miracles - given to me. I reach out to the audience. They reach out to me. There may be tears. Sometimes the tears are from sadness. Sometimes they are from an overwhelming feeling of love being present. Perhaps I am empathetic now. I have heard this about some AD victims. I feel caregiver and patient suffering. Their sorrow and discomfort is evident, and it hurts. I also feel love, and when the moment is special, it seems to surge and envelope me. It comes in great waves, and almost threatens to become physical. Then, the talk is over, and the love felt ebbs, spreads out and finds a platonic niche. The average person lives four to eight years with ALZHEIMER'S disease, according to the National Institute on Aging. I have had ALZHEIMER'S for at least seven years. I probably shouldn't be alive. Statistically, I shouldn't be able to write and talk. You have helped me defy statistics. There will be no quitting. I will continue to try. Martin Luther King Jr. once said: "Everybody can be great because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love." The spirit of the holiday season reminds us it is better to give than receive. Love is the greatest gift, to be given freely, without reservation or limit, with no expectation of return. May your love be a beacon, a shining example, which lights the darkest night to warm the coldest heart. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, November 26, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION A welcome update from the Brennan's Series: Seniority; LOOKING AHEAD JOHN A. CUTTER Do you remember TIM BRENNAN? I hope so, because Tim remembers you, even if he does have ALZHEIMER'S disease. Tim spent a year writing in these pages about his disease. In May, when he found it more and more of a struggle to gather his thoughts and write, Tim gave up the column. It was hard for him and for us, his readers. We miss his insights in the disease and how it affects him and his family, especially his wife, Peggy. When I spoke with Tim earlier this month, he said, "Hardly a day goes by when I don't think about the writing." But six months since he left these pages, Tim knows it was the right decision. "My memory is poorer now," he says from his home in Sterling Heights, Mich. "I find when I write a letter, it takes me four, five, six visits to the typewriter." Tim, hasn't given up his role in the community, however. He and Peggy still talk often to support groups, and Tim has expanded into a new area. He now speaks to gerontology students about ALZHEIMER'S and new research in the field. "I want to get to the students," he says, so they will understand that although there is no cure for ALZHEIMER'S, there is hope. Tim says he feels fortunate. Although he finds his memory poorer than it was in the spring, he knows people who have progressed into the illness more quickly. Tim still takes Cognex, a drug that aids in mental functioning, and tries to keep his mind as active as he can. "Our biggest problem is becoming passive," Tim says. Peggy Brennan says Tim "never lets his mind rest. If he can't do one thing, he tries another," moving from card games like blackjack to video games to reading - whatever works on a given day. Tim says he feels he is accessing brain cells he might not have used before, ones that are not tangled up by the disease. "We can, in fact, have some clarity of thought for a longer period of time," Tim says. Peggy has cut back her hours at work to four days, using the Family and Medical Leave Act to have more time with Tim. "That has helped me a lot, to take him different places," she says. "He has a little bit more confusion in recent months, but he still is getting along better than so many other people," Peggy says. At 53 and seven years or so into the disease's progression, Tim isn't sure what the future holds. Perhaps that is why he likes to end his talk with a quote he says come from the religious writer Thomas Merton: "You do not need to know personally what is happening or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and choices offered by the present moment and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope." Then Tim adds his own words: "We must accept this sound advice and go forward with our fight to prolong mental life." Tim says he sees himself as a bridge between ALZHEIMER'S patients whose conditions are worse than his and those who will get the disease. "I feel I'm going to try my best to speak and write for those who came before me and keep going until someone else comes along to take my place." Before I hung up the phone with Tim and Peggy, each wanted me to thank readers who have written. Peggy also wanted you to know that although Tim tried to answer as many letters as he could, it has gotten harder. But I don't think that is reason to stop sending letters. If you want to send a letter or holiday greeting to Tim and Peggy Brennan, we will forward it. Send it to them in care of Seniority, the Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, November 26, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION A welcome update from the Brennan's Series: Seniority; LOOKING AHEAD JOHN A. CUTTER Do you remember TIM BRENNAN? I hope so, because Tim remembers you, even if he does have ALZHEIMER'S disease. Tim spent a year writing in these pages about his disease. In May, when he found it more and more of a struggle to gather his thoughts and write, Tim gave up the column. It was hard for him and for us, his readers. We miss his insights in the disease and how it affects him and his family, especially his wife, Peggy. When I spoke with Tim earlier this month, he said, "Hardly a day goes by when I don't think about the writing." But six months since he left these pages, Tim knows it was the right decision. "My memory is poorer now," he says from his home in Sterling Heights, Mich. "I find when I write a letter, it takes me four, five, six visits to the typewriter." Tim, hasn't given up his role in the community, however. He and Peggy still talk often to support groups, and Tim has expanded into a new area. He now speaks to gerontology students about ALZHEIMER'S and new research in the field. "I want to get to the students," he says, so they will understand that although there is no cure for ALZHEIMER'S, there is hope. Tim says he feels fortunate. Although he finds his memory poorer than it was in the spring, he knows people who have progressed into the illness more quickly. Tim still takes Cognex, a drug that aids in mental functioning, and tries to keep his mind as active as he can. "Our biggest problem is becoming passive," Tim says. Peggy Brennan says Tim "never lets his mind rest. If he can't do one thing, he tries another," moving from card games like blackjack to video games to reading - whatever works on a given day. Tim says he feels he is accessing brain cells he might not have used before, ones that are not tangled up by the disease. "We can, in fact, have some clarity of thought for a longer period of time," Tim says. Peggy has cut back her hours at work to four days, using the Family and Medical Leave Act to have more time with Tim. "That has helped me a lot, to take him different places," she says. "He has a little bit more confusion in recent months, but he still is getting along better than so many other people," Peggy says. At 53 and seven years or so into the disease's progression, Tim isn't sure what the future holds. Perhaps that is why he likes to end his talk with a quote he says come from the religious writer Thomas Merton: "You do not need to know personally what is happening or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and choices offered by the present moment and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope." Then Tim adds his own words: "We must accept this sound advice and go forward with our fight to prolong mental life." Tim says he sees himself as a bridge between ALZHEIMER'S patients whose conditions are worse than his and those who will get the disease. "I feel I'm going to try my best to speak and write for those who came before me and keep going until someone else comes along to take my place." Before I hung up the phone with Tim and Peggy, each wanted me to thank readers who have written. Peggy also wanted you to know that although Tim tried to answer as many letters as he could, it has gotten harder. But I don't think that is reason to stop sending letters. If you want to send a letter or holiday greeting to Tim and Peggy Brennan, we will forward it. Send it to them in care of Seniority, the Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 NATIONAL Living life in fleeting moments Series: COLUMN ONE JOHN A. CUTTER There are still moments of mental clarity, long, delightful moments that sometimes connect into minutes and even hours during TIM BRENNAN'S day. In those moments, the words flow. Faces are familiar, names remembered. In those moments, Brennan doesn't fall, or crash his car, or say the wrong thing, like the time he told a woman her pantsuit did a nice job of hiding her varicose veins. In those moments - the time it has taken to read this far - the window opens and sunlight floods into his brain. But even in the sunlight, the weblike tangles of proteins that cause his ALZHEIMER'S disease are still there, casting shadows that grow longer as the days pass. At 53, TIM BRENNAN has a degenerative brain disease we associate with old age. During a decade of his life when the children are grown, when the smiles of grandchildren remind us of why life is good, when the sweet possibilities of retirement are within reach, Brennan was slapped with ALZHEIMER'S. Suffering at such a young age would make some people curse their misfortune and their God. Not Brennan. "I accept the disease's progression," he says, the words spoken slowly, like a record on the wrong speed. "The disease is easier for me to accept because I am a dreamer. With a dreamer, there is a little boy. There's always hope." Hope for more moments of clarity, more light in the dark. For a year, Brennan has shared his life with readers of the Seniority section of the Times. His monthly columns took us inside his home and his mind, probing the dark corners where loss and death are inevitable . . . but not yet victorious. His prose at times soared, because when the clarity comes, Brennan feels touched by a godlike spirit. Sounds silly, but then again, some American Indians believe the words of demented elders are sacred, linked to the spirit world. Brennan's mother and three brothers live in Pinellas County and suggested his story to the Times. When he began writing, Brennan said he would write "as long as I can." He has decided that time is now; his last column is in today's Seniority. He will miss the hundreds of people who have poured out their hearts and fears in letters to him and his wife, Peggy. But the effort has become too much, he says, and he must make choices where to invest his dwindling mental energy. TIM BRENNAN hangs his head, an expressionless look on his face. He slides into this pose often, when the effort of drawing words out of the darkness becomes too much. Peggy Brennan calls it shutting down. She says the end of his column is a sad landmark in the progression of the disease. "It's another goodbye. This disease, they call it the long goodbye, and it's true," Peggy says, her eyes on the man she met when she was 13 and he was 15. "There are parts of him that are not coming back." Brennan designed and installed computer networks for a large bank. "I could walk through a 15- or 20-story building and then maybe four or five branches in one day and know what each department needed," he says. But about seven years ago, he started making mistakes. He began taking notes as he worked, but found the notes were wrong, too. Then Brennan brought along an assistant, and each took notes. They ended up using what the assistant wrote. Brennan started working late, running twice as fast but getting only half as far. It made him think he was going crazy. Her husband coming home late made Peggy Brennan think she was losing her appeal, that maybe he was having an affair. "You start asking, 'Am I getting ugly? What's happening to me?' " says Peggy, who is 50 now. But there was more: He didn't want to leave the house, wouldn't go out with friends. Even the golf course was no fun. "I noticed when he'd go out the door, it's like he bristled, was on edge," Peggy says. She tried to get him to go to a doctor; he wouldn't. About four years ago, Brennan picked up his granddaughter Brittany at day care. He took her to the bank branch where Peggy was working, holding the 3-year-old up to the window for grandma to see. While they waited for her to finish work, Brennan decided to move the car out of the late afternoon sun into the shadows. Suddenly, he felt a burning sensation in his chest. He doesn't remember how the car crashed. "When I came to, my head was through the window. I had a heart attack," Brennan says. Brittany, in her car seat, was fine. When Brennan told the cardiologist about the mistakes, the forgetfulness, the flashes of disorientation and agitation, he suggested Brennan see a neurologist. In late 1993, the doctor told Brennan he had ALZHEIMER'S. Here is how Brennan described that moment, from his first piece last May in Seniority. "My wife and I cried and held each other for a long time following this revelation. You see, there is no cure for this disease. No miracle drugs are available to stop or slow down its progress. No operation can be scheduled to cut out the bad parts, helping to heal the good ones that are left. "We both knew, without a word being spoken, that the doctor had just given me a death sentence with no possibility of a last-minute reprieve." Only 10 percent of the 4-million Americans with ALZHEIMER'S or similar dementia show symptoms as early as their 50s. Researchers aren't sure what causes ALZHEIMER'S. Brain cells die as clumps and tangles of proteins build up in the brain, causing memory loss, personality changes and, finally, total mental and physical decline. Some people die within a year of diagnosis; others can linger for more than 20 years. At first, Peggy did not want her husband to know much about ALZHEIMER'S. "There is too much of the disease that is nothing to look forward to," she says. "If it was too much for me to comprehend that he was going to lose his mind, it definitely would be too much for him." So she cried loud but private tears, and clipped articles with fury. She hid them, piled up behind a dresser, so Tim wouldn't find them. TIM BRENNAN points with pride to the photographs pinned above his desk: his mother, his brothers and sisters, his three children and five grandchildren. "This is my son Dan and his . . ." His voice trails off. You can almost hear the neurotransmitters in his brain clicking, like a gas stove that refuses to light. "Chelsea!" a tiny voice says from near his elbow. Brittany, now 5, supplies the name to Brennan, who touches the girl's head tenderly. Brennan is in his home office, where he writes, in a middle-class neighborhood north of Detroit. The office smells faintly of the cigarettes he smokes, and is dark - even as noon approaches. It is to this room that Brennan retreats when the shadows grow too long in his brain. He needs regular breaks from people and noise, to recharge his mental batteries. He uses earplugs to create a deeper silence. Although his wife tried to shield him from information, "one day he said, 'Okay, Peggy. Get your stash out. I want to take a look,' " Peggy says. He read the articles, talked to doctors and helped form a support group. He started taking Cognex, the one prescription available to try to mask the disease's effects. It has had mixed results for many and dangerous side effects for a few, but the drug appears to have helped Brennan. He also takes a box full of vitamins every day. He heard crosswords and jigsaw puzzles helped, so he got some. He brought a Nintendo set because research suggests video games help maintain mental strength. He put up colored visual clues on a wall calendar to remind him of appointments and the few chores he can still do, like the dishes or light yard work. He listened to books on tape. And he started writing a journal so he could remember what was happening. "I did discover I could learn new things, and by doing the new things I may access information stored in damaged areas of my brain," Brennan says, tapping his head with both hands. Brennan is at what many consider the worst stage of the disease. He looks and feels physically healthy, and enjoys stretches of mental sharpness. But he is aware that mental and physical tasks are getting harder. He can't tie a shoelace. Closing buttons on a shirt can sap a morning's worth of energy. At a store, Brennan has had to walk up to a clerk and say, "Excuse me, I have ALZHEIMER'S disease. Can you tell me how to get out of the store?" Because he looks healthy, with clear blue eyes and a friendly smile, the clerk might think he is joking. And even if he doesn't, the quick directions - "the door is right over there, sir" - might as well be spoken in tongues. Sometimes people who know Brennan has ALZHEIMER'S treat him as if he is worse than he is. At a caregivers' meeting, someone asked Peggy why she brought Tim. "I heard her and said, 'Because I have to know . . . I have to know.' " As he stands at his desk, in front of the old Apple II computer and electric typewriter where he writes, Brennan almost falls. He is having trouble with his balance and depth perception. "The more he talks," Peggy Brennan says, crossing over to place her hands on Tim's shoulders, "the more he wants to shut down." There is still laughter in the Brennan household. For an interview, TIM BRENNAN wears a sweatshirt that says: "Seen it all, Heard it all, Did it all, Just can't remember it!" This is a man who used to put a box on the toilet that let out a hysterical laugh when someone sat down. The guy who put pie tins in their bedroom closet tied to a string, then pulled them in the middle of the night to scare his wife. "Humor pulled us through a lot," Peggy says. "It's very traumatic without the humor." Faith in God and love for each other also have helped. Peggy says she prayed "and told God I don't know how to deal with this. The only way I know how to deal with it is to commit myself totally and, God, you do what you want with us and we will do it to the best of our ability, no matter how hard it is or what it does to us." It will be hard. Even now, TIM BRENNAN knows things are slipping away. He looks at his wife and doesn't recognize her as she is. His mind has a mental image of a younger Peggy Brennan. He is falling more. He still drives, but only to a nearby senior center where he plays pool with men he considers his best friends. The words that once floated across his computer with ease now come slower. He hopes to devote whatever energy he has left to compiling his journal into a book. "My hope is 10 more years of life, with maybe half of those years being still productive," he says. "That's the hope. To do it with a touch more realism . . ." Again, he loses his thought. It has been a long day. "My science fiction thing would be 20 years, but I think 10 would be great." Money isn't an issue yet. He is on disability and has health-care coverage. Money they were saving for retirement will go toward his full-time care, when the time comes. In this part of the country that made Dr. Jack Kevorkian a household name, would Brennan want help dying when the end is near? Without hesitation, he says no. "We may lose awareness of what happens around us," he says. "We may become like a child. We may lose the ability to speak, the ability to even think, but we still remember love." Again, Peggy Brennan crosses the room and hugs her husband. Brennan retreats to his home office for a few moments of quiet. Peggy is alone in the family room. She points toward the room where her husband spends so much time, the room she intends to convert into a nursing home when he needs full-time care. Her words come in a jumble: "Something like this . . . it consumes your whole life . . . there's not a moment in the day when I'm not thinking about ALZHEIMER'S one way or another . . . you get tired just thinking all the time . . . everyone in life deals with some sorrow, and ours is not as bad as others." In the gathering darkness, TIM BRENNAN sits quietly, hoping for a few, brief shining moments before the final goodbyes. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION 'My wife and I cried and held each other' Series: Seniority TIM BRENNAN From TIM BRENNAN'S first column, May 30, 1995 Eighteen months ago, I was diagnosed as having ALZHEIMER'S disease. Prior to the diagnosis, my wife and I went from one doctor to another, searching for answers to the mind-related problems I was experiencing. During the early onset of ALZHEIMER'S, it is extremely difficult for a doctor to properly diagnose the disease. It is also hard for the patient to describe all the symptoms. I don't know if I told the doctor all the symptoms I was having at the time: forgetfulness, errors with simple math, misspelling and mispronunciation of words once commonly used and loss of balance. I just thought I was probably crazy. When the diagnosis finally came, it was not easy to accept the doctor saying, "You have ALZHEIMER'S disease." My wife and I cried and held each other for a long time following this revelation. You see, there is no cure for this disease. No miracle drugs are available to stop or slow down its progress. No operation can be scheduled to cut out the bad parts, helping to heal the good ones that are left. We both knew, without a word being spoken, that the doctor had just given me a death sentence with no possibility of a last-minute reprieve . . . For a while after the diagnosis, I had to tell myself quite often that I had ALZHEIMER'S in order to accept the fact that my life had to change. Like the opening line from an AA meeting, "Hello, my name is Joe, and I am an alcoholic," the first step toward making necessary lifestyle changes was, for me, to accept what I had as a problem or a condition . . . I'd like to offer some advice for those affected by ALZHEIMER'S. To caregivers, I would say to keep on with love and affection as long as you possibly can. Don't let your health suffer because of the care you give to us. Seek out those who can help you with the burden our illness gives you. When it is time for you to let us go, please do so without regret. Place us in a nursing home or bury us and then hold your head up high. You gave us your best effort. There is nothing more to be done now. You must start over with your own life. To an ALZHEIMER'S victim, the message is one of continuing to strive, to keep going forward no matter how difficult it may be. Ensure that your family finances are in order before you lose the ability to make proper decisions in this area. Share a smile and laughter with all those you meet. Hug and kiss your loved ones. Keep your mind as active as possible, for this action will help you prolong or extend your mental life span. Live for today. I am reminded of what William Shakespeare once wrote: "To be or not to be?" I now understand the question. Aug. 29, 1995 Adjust to altered abilities by simplifying life Shortly after the doctor's saying: "Tim, you have ALZHEIMER'S disease," I was given advice to try jigsaw puzzles, crossword puzzles and video games as hobbies. The puzzles and games then became a daily ritual for six months, taking up some of the time my former job once occupied. I slowly learned that, although I knew a three-letter word for a Japanese ceremonial robe, words once commonly used were fading from memory. What words I could remember, I couldn't spell, and my ability to speak fluently was leaving me. Additionally, I lost the ability to write. My wife, Peggy, and I discussed these problems and, one night after reading my diary entries, she suggested that I try to write more in depth about how ALZHEIMER'S was affecting me. I followed Peggy's suggestion and started to make diary entries in greater detail. As I wrote, it became easier to write. The disease's progression, with respect to both the spoken and written word, seems to have slowed. Additionally, as I wrote it became increasingly clear that, for every problem listed, there existed a potential solution. The solution may not be to my liking, but it was, nevertheless, frequently in front of me. In essence, for the time being, the patient gradually became the doctor. Plato once said: "Physician, heal thyself." My message to self became: Know thyself. An honest self-appraisal of weaknesses and diminishing abilities teaches me to downsize my life, making it simpler each time it becomes necessary to do so, and to pursue ways to make allowances for weaknesses. The goal, however elusive, is to perform at my absolute best within the context of what I have to work with today, at this precise time. Frequently, I fail. Failure is acceptable. Failure makes the few successes in life all the more rewarding. Thomas Edison was once asked how he could go on after failing 10,000 times with an experiment he was conducting. He replied: "Those weren't failures. I successfully found 10,000 ways it wouldn't work." ALZHEIMER'S victims fail many times each day at the things we once successfully accomplished. What I must do is try to achieve within the limitations the disease presents. Sept. 26, 1995 Simple pleasures are best Life does not end when a doctor says you have ALZHEIMER'S - it goes on. You enjoy what you can when you can - like my wonderful walks to the park to take slide rides with my 3-year-old granddaughter. The playground is six houses away, and so far I haven't gotten lost going there or returning from it. Sometimes we ride the slide together. At other times, we go down separately. Slides are fun. The spiral slide puts a smile on your face, but the ride is too short. The covered, through-the-tunnel slide is also too short and is only good for belly rides. My granddaughter and I ride the big slide. It gives you a long enough ride to scream out, at least once, or in my case, do a "Yee, Doggies" yell along with a laugh. Life with ALZHEIMER'S can still be good. It must be different. We must make it simpler and continue to make it more simplistic as we lose capability. Once we recognize the disease's progression, we can accept the fact and work toward making the most of what we have today. Life sometimes can be like a slide ride. We can take the short, safe one. Or we can take the long one, which is a little scarier, has a few more chances for possible hurts, but is guaranteed to give you a "Yee, Doggies" ride. Carpe Diem (Seize the day). Oct. 31, 1995 As comforts of faith fade, God becomes a presence Before ALZHEIMER'S disease came along and interjected itself into my daily living, my beliefs in and about God were unshaken. I had learned about God as a child and generally practiced my faith as an adult. I am a Catholic, but it may be more honest to say that I was a Catholic, for today I am not sure. As memory, logic and intellect slowly erode, so do the outward comforts of my faith. . . . However, God is in my heart. Somehow, He connects to me physically. I think this feeling is called spirituality. There is a sixth sense at work that "feels" His presence. I talk to God because I do not remember prayer. Something is present providing meaning, guidance and encouragement. It tends to go away when I have negative thoughts. It returns when I am at peace or seek peace. Negative thoughts or emotions drain me physically and mentally. Positive thoughts permit clearer thinking for longer periods of time. One could call this a conscience. A conscience is internal and self-governing. I believe this influence is external. It is something out-of-body that, like gravity from an unseen planetary force, is at hand constantly, urging dynamics from the me who wants to be inert. My brain wants quiet. It wants to be at rest. This influence tells me if I give in to the brain's wishes, I will die a quicker mental death. I believe it is God. I don't understand how one could become less religious and possibly more spiritual. Yet, this appears to be happening. The possibility is readily accepted because I am less intelligent and have a greater awareness of things physical today. Thoughts of this nature are discomforting. They remind me that what once was, is no more. Change is necessary, but it is so very difficult to accept. This one hurts. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION New directions for TIM BRENNAN Series: Seniority JOHN A. CUTTER TIM BRENNAN said from the beginning he would keep writing his diary for Seniority as long as the progression of his ALZHEIMER'S disease allowed it. And now the time has come to stop. I will leave it to Tim and his wife, Peggy, to explain why in their columns today (see centerpiece). For a year, Tim has shared with us his journey through ALZHEIMER'S disease. When Tim began writing last May, he was 52 and only 18 months into a diagnosis of early onset of the disease. Since then he has shared how he has coped, and not coped, with what he has and what he is losing. His stories have been uplifting and sobering and, always, moving. In what seems far too short a time, Tim has become the most popular writer for many Seniority readers. His column will be missed. Many readers have asked for reprints of Tim's columns, so today - beginning on this page - we include excerpts from them. We also visited Brennan and his wife, Peggy, in their home north of Detroit, and share that story with you on page 1A today. Tim is modest about the impact he has had on readers. As he holds a box full of letters from Seniority readers, Tim says he is amazed at the feelings people express. "We've been touched by every single letter that's been written," Tim says. Tim and Peggy want you to know the letters have helped them, just as many of you say his columns have helped you. But this is not a time to talk about legacies, because Tim says he is not finished. He hopes to compile his journal into a book, and vows to continue speaking about ALZHEIMER'S to support groups and others. We thank you, Tim, for sharing part of your life with us. We wish we knew you sooner. We are glad we finally met you. Your memories will live within us. - JOHN A. CUTTER From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION THE BRENNANS SAY Goodbye Series: Seniority TIM BRENNAN My family is a strong, loving lot. They have proven themselves to be patient and resilient to the silent demands ALZHEIMER'S disease makes upon them. My son is always on standby to help his dad with anything I need to have worked on. He cannot read about the disease I have. It hurts him too much. One daughter told her mom, "Gosh, Dad is like he always was." I like that statement, for it is the way I want to be remembered. I am not like I was, but I understand that love can be blind. A 5-year-old granddaughter, who is going to be in a play, said to me, "Papa, I asked my teachers if they would keep everyone quiet so you could come to see me, okay?" My mother spends her Social Security checks on frequent long-distance phone calls from Florida and greeting cards. I think the card shop employees call Mom by her name now. I can't say enough kind things about my wife and lovemate, Peggy. As I lose form and substance, she is present with guidance, encouragement and soft suggestion. Tomorrow, she will kiss and hug me before going to work. She will then call one or more times during the day, to ask how I am doing. She will come home from work and give me another hug and kiss. We will talk. She will then need a quiet moment to herself. After a brief rest, we will talk further. Peggy will interact with my daughter and granddaughter, who live with us, and will then redirect her attention to me. She is tired, but she wills herself to continue. I am not as good for her as I once may have been. This problem troubles me. She gives so much in order to help me. I want to give to her, but cannot do so - at least to the degree she gives to me. For now, my family is not all of my life. The friends who touch my life are important, too. They ask little, understand much and are always willing to listen. My primary physician is a caring professional dispenser of medical information and assistance. He and his nurses are compassionate, loving people. The ALZHEIMER'S Association patient and caregiver groups Peggy and I belong to are of tremendous benefit. These relationships all help to make what is difficult to bear much easier. They assist and encourage me. They will be here tomorrow. Despite all the help provided to me, once in awhile a feeling develops of being helpless and terribly alone. It is like I am inside a refrigerator-size box with the top folded closed. I don't understand how to get the top opened, and I don't have the physical strength to break through the sides. Then, as fear and panic want to grab hold, I tell myself I am not alone. I will pray, and this will calm the fear and panic away. A presence will be felt. I refer to this presence as my Creator. Tomorrow, I will wake up and thank God for giving me another day. Something instinctive, a feeling of sorts - perhaps the will to survive - will tug and push me to take a shower, shave, get dressed and do whatever I must do to get through the day. Household chores will be done, but I may fail at doing some of them as well as I should be doing them. I will smile frequently and share much laughter with others. A sad feeling or moment may come about during this day and I will brush it aside. At the end of the day, I will kiss Peggy good night and say a prayer for those I have come in contact with during this day and for those who have passed away or are less fortunate than I am. Then I will make a promise to God to keep going forward, to keep on trying. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION THE BRENNANS SAY Goodbye Series: Seniority PEGGY BRENNAN Tim is losing the ability to concentrate and some of his command of our language appears to be leaving. So the time has come for Tim to stop writing newspaper articles. We all knew there would be an end. I, and many others, wanted it to go on and on. I promised him I would try to fill in for him with this last article. I am not a writer by any means, but I do know Tim, and it is easy to write about him. We never thought his keeping a diary and writing from it would go on to be published as newspaper articles. We truly never thought it would then go on for a year. His articles have now appeared in 14 countries and in many of our states. The Times' Seniority section was the beginning. Tim writes from deep within himself, from a place many of us cannot reach. He let us explore and examine where most of us have never traveled. To me, he was the voice of so many ALZHEIMER'S victims who could no longer speak or write. He tried to translate his feelings and perceptions into words so we could understand the inner fears and turmoil of a person with ALZHEIMER'S. It has been an extraordinary year for both of us. Because of his writing, we have met and/or corresponded with some very special, caring, loving people. Many have opened their hearts to us. They have expressed their feelings and vulnerabilities. We have received many letters. Readers have written words of encouragement and very inspiring poems. We have even received stamps to help Tim with answering our correspondence. Together, we have read each letter, and Tim has tried to answer them all. We both want to thank you, all of you, for helping to make this time in our lives a period of mutual support and comfort. I will miss this time and Tim will as well. I hope that, somehow, we may have helped another - I know that you have helped us. We have been given so much, and Tim and I hope we can continue, in some small way, to give back. I hope I will be able to keep you updated periodically on Tim's condition. Goodbyes are hard. So for now, so long and God bless. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, May 28, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION Learning does not have to end Series: Seniority TIM BRENNAN Nov. 28, 1995 I am so very fortunate. Peggy tells me, based on what we now know, I have had ALZHEIMER'S for five or six years. By this time, many patients are not able to answer yes or no to a simple question. Yet, I speak and it is a miracle. Sometimes it is a struggle to talk or write. Then the mental fog will lift and, for a time, the words are there, scrolling past my mind's eye, like a Wall Street ticker tape or a song from a sing-along movie. When I first started to write about ALZHEIMER'S, I thought of the disease as an hourglass, with each grain of sand contained within the sphere representing a brain cell. As the grains of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass, a little more of our mental life span would be lost. Time became a bitter enemy. Later, as I came to realize that a healthy, fully functional human being only uses 10 to 15 percent of the brain's capacity, I started to think of the mind as a leaking bucket. The leaking water represented dying or dead brain cells that contained specific pieces of knowledge or a general capability. If I could just pour more water (knowledge) into the leaking bucket (brain), then couldn't I prolong or extend my mental life span? My theory was the leaking bucket would take longer to run dry if I kept pouring water into it. Perhaps I could access some of the brain's unused capacity. Dec. 26, 1995 The front=line soldier, the battles . . . and the tree of life ALZHEIMER'S disease is my "enemy within." It is a strong, ever-present force that frequently encumbers my ability to interact with my fellow man. Its strength fluctuates. Sometimes it is so strong that I cannot think or speak properly. Then it will retreat into the background of my mind. In the quiet aftermath, I am left to ponder what may have been lost in this latest battle for mental life. It may have been a word or the name of something or someone I once knew. A memory could be gone. Sometimes I think of myself as a reluctant front-line soldier who is in the middle of a war zone. The soldier is afraid and stays slunk down in the false security of his foxhole. As the battle rages around him, he looks up and sees his fellow soldiers being killed, one after another. He somehow knows in an instant he will be the next one to die, unless he chances going forward to fight the unseen enemy. So, with quivering legs, shaking arms and the taste of bile in his throat, he leaves the foxhole to fight the great unknown. He may be crying or yelling out of fear, at the top of his voice, as he moves forward with his fight for life. Luckily, for today, the soldier prevails. Later, a general awards the soldier a medal for bravery. The soldier thinks: "I wasn't brave. I was just trying to stay alive." Some Seniority readers and others I meet have said to me: "Tim, you are an inspiration" or "You have much courage." I thank them for their beautiful, well-intentioned words, but I think to myself: "I am not very brave. I am just trying to stay alive." Today is a heaven-sent day. Clear thought processes are present for the moment. I must make this day productive and of benefit to my wife, family or others. Everything, except love, has changed and continues to change. It is all so simple now. Prescription drugs have easy-to-screw-on-and-off lids. Toothpaste is in the "sit-on-its-head" tube. I dress in easy to put on and take off clothes. I have a good number of black and white socks, all from the same manufacturer. The pants worn are generally the pull-on Spandex variety. Shirts and sweaters are of the type pulled on over the head. Buttoning is tiring for me and, therefore, buttons are reduced or eliminated from clothing normally worn. I wear loafers or tennis shoes with Velcro tabs. Getting dressed requires less energy today than it once did. The energy saved is put to use in other areas of my life. Now, I gaze at the Christmas tree. It is my life. My wife, Peggy, is the beautiful angel on top of the tree. My family and friends are the many bulbs. Some are bigger or flashier than others. A few are delicate. They are all so precious. It is said that life should be a series of special moments. My special moments are the many bright lights that adorn the tree. Some trees of life are artificial. Mine is real. Love is constant and is at hand. For today, I survived one battle of the many to be fought in this war. Thank you, God, for giving me today. Jan. 30, 1996 Struggling to hold on to what you've got Two additional facts relating to ALZHEIMER'S victims need to be mentioned: the recognition of the love and support our caregivers provide and the acknowledgement that our existence is finite. There is a saying in the Bible that seems particularly appropriate. I no longer remember its exact words, nor the chapter it is in, but paraphrased, it goes something like: "There is a time to reap and a time to sow. A time for sickness and a time for health. A time to laugh and a time to cry. A time to live and a time to die." I am grateful for all the love and support Seniority readers have shown me. Someday, I will forget your names. I will forget the experiences. It is inevitable. But more binding than genes and longer-lasting than failing memory or one man's life, we are now a part of each other. Feb. 27, 1996 Just try to remember to keep it simple I am a turtle in a world full of rabbits. I want to be a rabbit so very much. I try to dress like the rabbit, even though some of my clothing has too many buttons or snaps or things to loop and make go 'round, like belts, ties and shoelaces. I drive to the senior center twice a week to shoot pool for an hour or two. On the way to the center, many rabbits pass me - they are so quick. . . . I shoot pool with my companions and, for a while, it is like I am one of them. They make me so happy just to hear them laugh and talk. Then, I tire and it is time to go. My words may start to slur. Thoughts are no longer whole. I start to lose track of where I am - what I am doing - and who I am doing it with. Now, the rabbit may stare at me a little sadly. The masquerade is over. He knows I am a turtle. I leave for home, driving slowly and carefully. At home, I crawl into a protective mental shell by taking a nap. I am exhausted. The world is too busy, too confusing and far too fast. . . . Frequently, I am befuddled. I become afraid and want to crawl into my shell. I try to resist the impulse to protect and isolate myself from others. I love the rabbit, and tomorrow I will be with him or her again. . . . In my dreams, I am a rabbit and all is well. Henry David Thoreau wrote, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler." I am simple. I am happy. For someday, in heaven, it will be Easter and I will be a rabbit. March 26, 1996 Decision to "place" a patient is tough My friend Bill was just "placed." That's a word we use when an ALZHEIMER'S patient is put into a nursing home. Another friend, Jim, has left my life, too. What has happened to them has been sad for me to watch. But the decisions their caregivers made were inevitable . . . The decision on when to take control of a victim's life is a very difficult one. Unfortunately, we have seen far too many instances where expert opinion is provided in favor of the person who is paying the expert's fee. Please, for the sake of your loved ones who suffer from ALZHEIMER'S, let your heart be your guide. By all means, discuss the situation with doctors, your minister, rabbi or priest. . . . You will, undoubtedly, talk with friends and acquaintances of your loved one. But the bottom line is still the same: Let your heart guide your decision. Many caregivers talk with me. Sometimes they express the shame or guilt they felt about placing their loved one in a day care or nursing home environment. They often say they tried to do everything possible to keep their wife, husband, father or mother at home. It finally became too much for them. And therein lies the answer. The love they consistently feel for the victim implies self-sacrifice. They went far beyond what any call of duty would ever imply before finally being forced to "place" their loved one. Even now, after placement, they frequently ask, in a fashion, "I wonder what Jim or Bill would have wanted?" Let love guide your decision. It will be a good one. April 30, 1996 Put your financial affairs in order ALZHEIMER'S disease is sneaky. It slowly takes away memory, logic and intellect. There is no pain or other obvious warning signs - it acts as a quiet thief in the night. As I look back at diary entries, I see the disease's progression. I can no longer trust the numbers I write on a check. $8.30 could be written as $83 or $0.83. The current day and date is not remembered, and I cannot sign my name properly. The memory is poor and I may want to pay the same bill twice or, perhaps, not at all, thinking I already paid it. It is vitally important for ALZHEIMER'S victims to ensure their financial affairs are in order, while we are still capable of making necessary decisions. . . . Victims may fight or try to put off a review. You have to insist that it is completed. When victims become incapable of handling their own matters, it will be difficult to make the necessary changes, and when we die, it will be too late. From the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday, April 30, 1996 SPECIAL SECTION Go ahead and sell it to the movies! Series: SENIORITY; LETTERS Dear Tim: As usual, I enjoyed your writing immensely this week, plus the answers you wrote to your correspondents. After you get well, go out to Hollywood and write for the movies; you'll make a million. - Your No. 2 Fan, Richard, Dunnellon Dear Richard: If laughter is the best medicine, you provided me with a mouthful. Thank you for your letter and your great sense of humor. Dear ones: Tim, thanks so much for your writings - I cry, I laugh, I enjoy, but I also face sad memories. I wept through many years of seeing my dear sister die year by year. Her dear husband gave her such tender, loving care - I would go and stay with her so he could go to support meetings. She also had a heart condition and after about five years, it was a sad blessing, but my beautiful sister died while I was with her and her husband. He joined her in death nine months later. They had such love for each other and now they are together again. - Love and Tears, Margaret, St. Petersburg Dear Margaret: Thank you for sharing your sad but beautiful story with us. I am so grateful for the love my wife, Peggy, gives to me. Today is such a short time. Then we are gone. We must use what time we have been given to love. Dear Tim: My dad had ALZHEIMER'S; he and my brother were its victims. Although my brothers and their spouses all tried to help, Mother's was the "25-hour day." Dad is the reason I volunteered to be a part of a research program at the University of California, San Diego, ALZHEIMER'S Research Center. My husband, Frank, also volunteered because he is an exceptional human being and wants to help me in whatever I do. Frank and I have been married 13 years, and we've known each other for more than 30. Hang on to God's hand, Tim. He never lets go, but sometimes our grip loosens! - Sincerely, Pat, Ramona, Calif. Dear Pat: It takes a special kind of person to volunteer for research programs. The experimental drugs taken and all the testing you and Frank are going through will, one hopes, benefit future generations. Your courage, perseverance and inner strength are attributes to be admired and followed. Thank you for your willingness to be a bright light in the darkness at hand. You can write to TIM BRENNAN c/o Seniority, the Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731.

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