Control Freaks AnonymousPosted: May 11, 2012
“Hi, my name is Larry and I’m a control freak.” “Hi, Larry!” responds the very large group in unison. The electricity in the room could power a well-manicured subdivision. Deed-restricted, of course. But, we are not here to confess faults. This is a rally of dedicated survivalists. Control Freaks Anonymous.
I haven’t controlled anything since 2007. I barely control my bowels. In CFA we all have a loved one who lives with Alzheimer’s disease. We’re all family members who raised children and took vacations and went to church and to ball games. Most of us have grandchildren. And we all live bizarre lives. Lives that often look normal, but are completely out of control.
Some at the meeting are genuine control freaks. They’re scattered throughout the audience and sit sobbing. The rest of us are just plain folks who are losing touch with reality. We’re caregivers for a loved one living with Alzheimer’s and we don’t know what’s going to happen from moment to moment. Heck, we’re not even sure of what happened just a minute ago.
Every month for two hours we gather to pretend we have a life. We proudly call ourselves control freaks the way a kid might call himself one of the superheroes in The Avengers. In fact, we are simply survivalists.
The worst thing that can happen to a survivalist is to be defeated by a threat. I have never faced a challenge I could not overcome. By working with God, or with friends; or with doctors or with Google, I always knew I would control the situation and survive. But that was until this control freak survivalist came face to face with Alzheimer’s disease. This enemy straight from hell was a game changer. It’s pure kryptonite.
At the CFA meeting we proudly tell lies. One man had a chat with his wife at breakfast. Another found his shoes where he always leaves them. A wife turned off the TV and took a walk with her husband. A lady’s mom phoned her just to talk. The group claps loudly at each story.
Finally, the meeting is over. We fold our chairs and put them back in the little storage room. This one act seems like pure joy. We hug one or two, say goodnight and make our way to the parking lot.
The memory lingers:
“Hi, my name is Larry and I’m a control freak.”
somewhere there’s eerie laughter.