Sweet Honesty: A Huntington's Disease Story
It's an anxiety filled night. As my wife lingers on in hospital after being told twice it was only a matter of hours until she would pass, I sit and wait for an unknown time when she will be gone. She can still communicate with me and we reminisce of good times and even bad times. It's funny how dark times can be something to look back at fondly, highlighting the strength of character we needed to get through it. I wondered if I ever gave credit to this woman that stayed by my side no matter what. She would surprise me at times with solutions to problems that I couldn't see. I made sure as each event came up that I gave her the recognition she deserved. She was a true, perfect partner, the only really great decision I had made in my life.
We laughed today of how I proposed. I actually never did. I had made up my mind long before that she was the one and then one day I asked her to meet me. She was there when I got there and I simply said, "We're getting married on June 26. So you're going to be there right?" She said "Yes"! That was in 1981.
I often find that the sense of smell is strongly associated with memory. I had brought in a cream sachet for her even though it was scented and that is not allowed in the hospital. She had drifted into sleep as she is usually only awake for short periods before she goes to sleep. The days and nights are the same with her drifting in and out with her sleeping about the same time as she is awake. She is weak and hasn't eaten in a couple of days and is also not taking in fluids.
I reached into the night stand and took out the cream. It was from Avon and was something she always kept on hand. Her perfume of choice was Chanel #5 but this inexpensive cream was always treated as special, more special than any expensive perfume. I also took out a lipstick and applied some to her lips. I then dipped my finger into the jar and applied a small amount to her neck and wrists, something I'd seen her do for about forty years.
Her eyes opened and she turned her head toward me and uttered something. My first questions to her are always concerning her comfort but she let me know that this was not the case. So I told her I had applied lipstick to her while she slept and had applied her cream sachet. Her eyes widened a bit so I knew she was wanting to talk about that.
I asked her if she remembered the first time she had this particular cream sachet. It was, as I said earlier, an Avon product. The fragrance was Sweet Honesty. She nodded that she remembered and she made the face that I knew was her laughing, but no sound was heard. I asked her if she wanted me to tell her the story and she put her hand up, which means yes, she wanted to hear it.
I had first met Sheila when I was 12 years old. She was a neighbour of mine and also a friend of my sister's. She was 15 at the time, and I really liked her. She was pretty and a lot of fun.
By February of 1976, Sheila was 16 years old and I was only 13. I knew that I was way too young for her to be my girlfriend but I so wanted to give her something for Valentine's Day. My mother sold Avon at the time and so I found in her catalog a heart shaped cream sachet made special for the holiday. I ordered it with the fragrance "Sweet Honesty". When it came I just couldn't give it to her. I was embarrassed and also a bit shy so I gave it to a girl at the bus stop and asked her to give it to her. Of course, she obliged.
Sheila loved it and treasured it even though it was only about $2.99 or something like that. She even kept the jar for many years, but she always kept Sweet Honesty on her dressing table.
Over the years, when Huntington's Disease was making her difficult, there were times when I would get out the jar she had on hand and ask her to smell it. There were many times that would calm her and remind her of what we had. Little things can be the most powerful.
I didn't know it way back then what a role Sweet Honesty would play in our battle with HD but it would prove that it could overpower even the monster of all diseases.
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