Alzheimer's vs Jimbo

I received an invitation the other day to appear on a radio show in a city far to our north. They had read my PR about the release of my new novel, The Myth Makers and wanted me on the show.  As I talked with the producer, I realized I knew her from somewhere. Finally I asked her if she had a brother named Jimbo?  And she laughed and said, “Yes, but I haven’t heard him called that since I left Austin.”  Come to find out, she was the baby sister of a good friend of mine from UT days…that’s something like a million years ago.

I asked about her brother and she told me he was not doing well. He was suffering from Alzheimer’s’ and was in its very late stages. I asked her about her other brother, Tom and she said he had been giving his brother care around the clock ever since he had become so ill. 

I called Tom and introduced myself. He remembered me and I told him of getting his name and number from Sally and then I asked if I could see Jimbo if not but for a moment. Tom said it would be possible. He gave me their address and I went to their house a day or two later when I was in Austin.

Something rather strange happened. As soon as I walked in the room Jimbo recognized me and even called out to me. “Crawley!  You old rascal, you.” His brother and the nurse there in the room were both shocked.  We spoke a few sentences together and hugged like old college buds will do. Then the gray curtain came back down and he had no more an idea of who I was than a brick wall. But for that instant he remembered me and called out my name.

Later, Tom said that moment was like a small miracle. “We live for those. Just to know that deep inside there, he’s still with us. Somehow and at some level.”  I didn’t stay long.  I had pressing engagements elsewhere, but it was such a great gift for Jimbo to have called out my name and remembered me, if not for but the briefest of instances.

Alzheimer’s is a dreaded disease.  It robs one of the most vital of all our organs — the brain. My close friend Stephen Woodfin has written about it a length in his novels and participates in fund raising and awareness for a cure for this thoughtless killer. His work opened my eyes to the plight of families facing such horrors. The tales he tells are sad and lonely.  But that day — that instant with Jimbo, gave me and those in the room a moment of victory in a losing war. For one instant we had a beachhead.  We had a minute of joy…of remembrance.

Jimbo will not be with us long. His passing will be sad. But of all the things he and I did in school (some of which I cannot print in this article) of all the things we shared, the thing I will remember the most is his looking up from a blank stare as I entered his room and him calling out, “Crawley! You old rascal.” Somewhere deep inside we had a bond strong enough to overcome even the onset and destruction of brain cells caused by this silent killer. Jimbo’s mind triumphed that afternoon. And he gave us all a little joy.

My hope is we can find a cure or prevention for this disease. I know Woodfin is working hard at it. And I, too, will pick up the mantle. If for no other reason than Jimbo Evans remembered me, and I want to some how do something to remember him.