I Will Be A Widow - A Mindful Approach to Dementia & Psychedelics

Before the official diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, I knew Henry was declining. Stating the medical name of the symptoms just made it more real. The first medical report: mild cognitive disorder. We are on a journey. Next report: early-stage Alzheimer’s. We are firmly on this path. Then, after months of Henry contemplating and considering medical aid in dying (MAID), the next step: signing up for MAID through DIGNITAS in Switzerland. A finality.

A year and a half had passed since being formally diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s. During this time, Henry seemed normal to most people. His cognition was fine, though just sometimes it wasn’t. Decisions about what he wants to do and how to proceed were in his hands, though sometimes he needed prompting or reminding.

During this stage, microdosing and looking for ways to improve or at least access his best self seemed worthwhile. Especially the microdosing. More clarity, cognition, presence, ability to focus, better sleep, a degree of feeling more uplifted—who wouldn’t want to experience all this knowing you had Alzheimer’s? Microdosing was very helpful.

Now that Henry has moved into the moderate stage, is microdosing still helpful? I wasn’t sure. I still don’t know. Perhaps the placebo effect is taking over, but even if it isn’t, Henry sleeps well. He wants to microdose, and perhaps it is providing more clarity and cognition, less anxiety. But I have stepped back from reminding him or being in charge of him taking it. When he asks, I always have his dose ready. “What does it matter anymore?” I ask myself.

Then last week: an evaluation pointing to more than early-stage Alzheimer’s… moving into moderate stage. I had known that, even before the evaluation. Henry’s confusion became more apparent: getting more mixed up, poorer recall of events, less assuredness of where he is in time and space. I had been telling family and friends that early-stage was like a honeymoon period. I had hoped it would last a long time. It didn’t.

During this honeymoon, my voice in the psychedelic space kept growing. I wrote Mindful Microdosing: A Guidebook and Journal. Writing articles, giving masterclasses, podcast interviews, designing Mindful Microdosing courses, and webinars have given fuel to my own well-being. How ironic that as Henry declines, I am soaring.

After decades of meditation practice, Henry and I had our first high-dose journey with psilocybin right around the time COVID had ended. (To learn more, listen to this podcast with Lance Cutsforth.) The non-dual nature of my magic mushroom journey was like a window into the years of practice. It felt like familiar territory, a world somewhat known by me: awareness. Cultivating mindfulness nourishes many qualities, awareness being one of the most fundamental. This is similar to the Witnessing Self in yoga. It doesn’t happen overnight, where this quality (or is it a way of being?) can be called forth on its own. But there it was: awareness. Thank you, mushrooms. Thank you, years of mindfulness practice. The two seemed to merge together.

At the tail end of the journey, Henry and I spent about twenty minutes together, side by side. It was a parting of sorts. We laughed, we cried, we recounted and reviewed forty years of marriage. It was bittersweet. A first goodbye. Then his energy seemed so far off that it felt unanchored to this world, not able to come back and connect with mine. I had a knowing… it was over. Our energies, so intertwined, now undone. I whispered goodbye.

It was then that Henry made a solemn promise to support me wholeheartedly in my endeavors, no holds barred. The tables had turned. Already cognizant of his decline and the need to lean on me more and more, he drew an inner strength of commitment to give back to me what he felt was time to do. Thank you.

That was already several years ago, but that experience changed everything. I walked in the world differently. At least from the inside. In one sense, I had already experienced the loss of Henry—his energetic self. Now there became another knowing, an intellectual understanding that my husband was declining of Alzheimer’s. I knew the end was around a corner in the not-too-too-distant future. I intellectually understood this.

Almost two weeks had passed since I departed Mexico. Henry wanted to stay, and so he did. That meant accepting assisted living. So far, so good. He was swimming most days, going to PT, and enjoying the camaraderie of his neighbor and other residents. Now the overriding question was how long he should stay there and when I should return. In consultation with Henry and our daughters, there seemed to be no clear answer. We decided to wait a few days before coming to a decision.

Our daughters suggested several scenarios. Just before going to bed, I answered my WhatsApp to hear the latest idea. I’d have over a month to myself.

ONE…..FULL….MONTH.

To…. MYSELF.

I lay in bed, my head racing, my heart bursting. Total confusion. ONE…WHOLE….MONTH. To…MYSELF. A heart wrench to my gut. An unexpected burst of tears. What do I want to do? Where do I want to be?

I HAVE NOOOOO IDEA.

A visceral sense of ME, JUST ME.

Just ME.

I will be a widow.

Heart-wrenching. More tears.

It has become real.

This is not a goodbye on an energetic plane. This is not an intellectual understanding.

This is my first gut-wrenching, heart-wrenching, embodied experience of…

I WILL BE A WIDOW.

- Lauren Alderfer, PhD.