PRAISE FOR SARAH SMITH AND BROKEN BEAUTY
“So many of us have been touched by the ripple effect of a loved one being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease or dementia. Broken Beauty is a story of fighting for a life given a terminal diagnosis, living one day and moment at a time, and proof that with God, anything is possible. Sarah’s journey, outlined in these pages, brings hope and light to what, from a distance, might seem hopeless and dark. Love always wins.”
—Michael W. Smith, Singer/Songwriter
“There are few subjects that compel us to look into the broken heart of human existence as this one does. But this marvelous book shows that it is precisely because of this that our deepest need for God—and His willingness to meet that need—can also be gloriously revealed, if we are willing.”
—Eric Metaxas, New York Times best-selling author of Bonhoeffer and Miracles, and nationally syndicated radio host
“A beautifully written book by Sarah Smith. Having lost my mom to Alzheimer’s many years ago, it was as if I were living my own journey all over again. It touched all the same emotions that I’m sure every son or daughter has gone through with a loved one. A step-by-step story of a tragic disease and how the good Lord carried this family through it.”
—Lee Majors, film and television actor of The Big Valley, The Six Million Dollar Man, and The Fall Guy
“In a culture where our value is measured by our looks, our income, and our talent, we need reminders of the beauty of sacrificial love and the truth of the inherent worth every human has because they are made in God’s image. Broken Beauty is a reminder that is beautifully written and full of grace and truth.”
—John Stonestreet, president, the Chuck Colson Center for Christian Worldview
“Broken Beauty provides a rare, authentic look into the challenges and triumphs of a family walking the journey with Alzheimer’s disease. The story speaks to the need for a community of support, compassionate and competent professionals, and eyes that continue to see and embrace beauty in the midst of a challenging diagnosis.”
—Audette Rackley, MS/CCC-SLP, Head of Special Programs at The University of Texas at Dallas, Center for BrainHealth, and author of I Can Still Laugh: Stories of Inspiration and Hope from People Living with Alzheimer’s
“Heartfelt, heartbreaking, ultimately hopeful, Broken Beauty is the kind of book you buy for friends and then a week later, get together and talk about it over a cappuccino.”
—Ron Hall, author of the #1 New York Times bestseller, Same Kind of Different as Me, and producer and writer of the Paramount film of the same name
This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold with the understanding that the publisher and author are not engaged in rendering legal, accounting, or other professional services. If legal advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought.
Some names and identifying characteristics referenced in this book have been changed to protect their privacy.
Published by Greenleaf Book Group Press
Austin, Texas
www.gbgpress.com
Copyright ©2019 Sarah Smith
All rights reserved.
Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Distributed by Greenleaf Book Group
For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Greenleaf Book Group at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.
Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group and Kim Lance
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group and Kim Lance
Cover bowl photograph: ©Shutterstock / Zapylaiev Kostiantyn
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.
Print ISBN: 978-1-62634-597-3
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62634-598-0
Part of the Tree Neutral® program, which off sets the number of trees consumed in the production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as planting trees in direct proportion to the number of trees used: www.treeneutral.com
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
18 19 20 21 22 23 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
This book is dedicated to caregivers of every shape and form, professional or not. This disease doesn’t just belong to the person who has been afflicted. It is your disease also. You face it with dignity and grace, and you enhance the quality of life as you do. Your hearts are full of love, and you do whatever it takes to make our loved ones feel safe. You are patient, courageous, strong, selfless, compassionate, and tolerant. You are the real heroes, and to me, you are our earthly angels.
To Mom and Dad, who have been married fifty-two years and whose love continues to grow stronger.
“Those who abandon ship the first time it enters a storm miss the calm beyond. And the rougher the storms weathered together, the deeper and stronger real love grows.” —Ruth Bell Graham
And to my loving husband, Thad, and our three children: Frensley, Emery, and Elijah. You gave me the courage to believe in myself and gifted me the opportunity to spend more time with Beauty and Pop so that I could strive to be the best daughter possible. Thank you for your support in sharing our story with the world.
Foreword by Ron Hall
RECENTLY, I DISCOVERED THAT MY friend Sarah and I are the same kind of different.
She may disagree, but I don’t believe God put us here on earth to be authors. Storytellers perhaps. We were traveling down similar paths of two distinctly separate yet beautiful lives when life began to look not so beautiful. But through brokenness, great stories are birthed, and when put on the page, are like salve for sore hearts—stories that bless untold millions and give hope to even more. Broken Beauty is such a story.
I love the title. It intrigues me and causes me to search for the deeper meaning behind the two simple words. Hopefully, as you dive into this story, which is much deeper than wide, you’ll agree. However, in full disclosure, I’ll admit that the title came to me in quiet, prayerful, and reflective moments after reading Sarah’s manuscript. I reluctantly shared it.
As you join Sarah and her family on their journey to love and care for Beauty, your heart, like mine, will become velcroed to theirs. Page by page, together we find love, compassion, and ultimately hope and reassurance from the faith we share. The trials are many, and the victories few—but so, so sweet.
By now, most everyone has been affected by Alzheimer’s disease. I know it well, as my late wife, Debbie, and I cared for both her parents, who suffered nearly ten years with Alzheimer’s. The arrest, the trials, the tragedies, and the indignities were heartbreaking, as they never realized what happened to their beautiful world. They didn’t even remember who they were. The victory in their case was to die just one week apart in their mid-eighties. Theirs was not early-onset like Beauty’s. Early-onset Alzheimer’s seems much more cruel, as it takes a greater toll on families once they realize a still young, vitally engaged family member has become a child once again.
Sarah’s journey is real, and her honesty is often gripping. Even if you have miraculously avoided knowing people with this disease, you should begin turning the pages now, as the home you are about to enter could one day be yours. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, but he prepares you to handle what he gives you. That, I believe, is Sarah’s testimony.
This story may not ring with familiarity today, but statistics prove it will
become familiar to everyone who reads this beautifully rendered tale of a broken beauty. Grab your readers and a warm blanket, stretch out on the couch, turn the pages, and be blessed.
RON HALL
Author of the #1 New York Times bestseller,
Same Kind of Different as Me
Producer and writer of the
Paramount film of the same name
PROLOGUE
BROKEN BEAUTY
I’LL NEVER FORGET THE DAY my mom almost ate glass.
After her diagnosis, my parents moved from Houston to Dallas and bought a beautiful home a few blocks away from my family. I was thrilled to have them closer, and for the first time in years, Mom and I spent so much more time together. Whether we were sitting in carpool lines to pick up my kids or driving to Starbucks to order her favorite drink, an iced soy chai, we were inseparable.
One morning I was folding my parents’ laundry while Dad poured Mom a bowl of cereal. He carried it into the living room so she could eat it in her favorite chair. He’d just come back into the kitchen to fix her a hot cup of coffee when we both heard the sound of breaking glass.
“Ahhh!” Mom yelled. “Shoot!”
Dad and I ran into the living room to see what had happened. Mom had dropped her cereal, and the rim and one side of the bowl had broken into pieces. The main part of the bowl, however, was still intact.
She picked up several pieces of glass and put them back in the bowl, and then she scooped up another spoonful of raisin bran and brought it to her mouth.
“Becky!” Dad shouted. “Don’t eat that!”
“What?” Mom asked. “It’s fine. It’s just a few pieces. I can still eat out of it.”
“It’s broken, Becky. If you eat a piece of glass, you could choke or kill yourself.”
Dad couldn’t grasp why she didn’t understand this. It was common sense, after all.
Still, he was patient and loving and regained his composure quickly. “Here,” he said gently. “Let me get you a new bowl.”
She looked up at him and back down at what she thought was a perfectly fine bowl of cereal and caved. “Okay. I think it’s a waste, but fine.” She held out the bowl, which shook in her hands, splashing more milk onto the floor. Because of her disease, she couldn’t grip things well anymore. Whenever she held a coffee cup, a drinking glass, or a bowl, it leaned sideways. We continually followed her around with a paper towel to clean up her spills.
“Oh, Mama,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “What are you doing here? Are you stirring up trouble and making messes again?”
She chuckled, then cleared her throat. “I guess so. I’m always doing something.” She knew something was wrong with her, but she was still trying to cover it up.
As she stood to help me clean up, I noticed a tiny piece of glass sticking out of her ring finger.
“Mom, hang on. Let me get that glass out of your skin.”
She sat back down and, holding her finger steady, I carefully pinched the glass with my fingernails and pulled it out. On my knees, I looked up at her. She looked back into my eyes.
“Mom, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daughter. I know.”
She smiled softly and continued to stare into my eyes with complete trust, believing that I would take care of her and help her get through this journey. I smiled back, blissfully unaware how hard that journey would soon become.
IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST. One moment, my mom was the funny, strong, opinionated woman she’d always been, blowing air through the gap in her front teeth to make a whistle you could hear for blocks. Then, seemingly overnight, not only had she forgotten how to whistle, but she also had a hard time stringing together coherent sentences.
Early-onset Alzheimer’s disease (EOAD) is the cruelest disease I have ever seen. Unpredictable and uncontrollable, it follows its own rules. The disease lives in the moment. It had taken over my mom like a Category 5 hurricane, but sometimes the storm would pass, the clouds would part, and she would be lucid again. During these moments of calm, we’d have beautiful conversations.
Even in these brief exchanges, I’d find myself savoring every word—good or bad, positive or negative—spoken from my mom’s lips. And when words were nonexistent, her eyes never failed to express love.
MY JOURNEY WITH MY MOM has been wonderful, painful, terrifying, life-affirming, crazy-making, and beautiful. Every day is different, and there is no consistency. I’m only forty-two, but over the past several years, I’ve walked through a lifetime’s worth of heartache and hope—as have my dad, my husband, my children, and the many friends who’ve walked beside me. There is so much brokenness all around us, but there’s beauty too. With every new crack or fissure, I peek through to see the light. With every new break, I cup my hands around an even greater love.
God gives me glimpses and moments of hope. He teaches me to trust Him along the way. He shows me, through Mom’s eyes, how much He loves me. And when I touch her face and hands, I feel a softness and a sense of peace within me. Mom knows how much I love her. Although she can’t express her love for me the way she once did, I know that when we are together, our love only grows stronger.
Don’t get me wrong: This situation is painful and not at all pretty. There are days that break my heart. But then some of it is so very beautiful, like when I get to dance with Mom. She may not remember what a chai latte is or have any recollection of all the times we went to Starbucks together, but when I dance with her for twenty minutes, it is amazing. We lock eyes, the disease temporarily disappears, and we feel the connection we have had since she carried me on her hip during my toddler years.
As I’ve walked beside Mom through her incurable disease, I’ve begun to see love with a clearer, deeper understanding. There are so many kinds of love—love between spouses, parents, children, caretakers, friends, siblings, and, of course, God’s abiding love. I wouldn’t be where I am today without those kinds of love.
THIS BOOK IS MY LOVE letter to my mom and God’s abiding love. It’s a story about how love can turn even a tragic, heartbreaking battle into a daily testimony of redemption and grace. Although I recognize that I have lived a life of privilege, my story is no different than that of anyone else facing the travesty of EOAD or any other debilitating disease.
This book is for anyone who has ever felt broken; anyone who has ever struggled with a painful, earth-shattering loss; anyone who has a hunger to know God and witness His daily miracles; and anyone who wants to know whether love can mend our human brokenness and heal all our wounds.
I’m here to tell you: It can.
ONE
HOME SWEET HOME
Thanksgiving and Christmas 2009
THE THANKSGIVING AND CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS were the highlight of my parents’ year, especially because Mom loved to entertain guests. It was Thanksgiving 2009, and other than their Sunday-morning church services, nothing brought Mom and Dad greater joy than opening the front door of their Houston home to greet their kids and grandkids.
My daughters, Frensley and Emery, jumped out of the car as soon as we parked in the driveway and ran to Mom. Frensley was almost six years old, and Emery was four.
“Beauty!”
The girls had called her Beauty since they could talk. Mom made it up because she did not want to be called Grandma. She also thought it would be funny for the kids to call her Beauty when she was old and feeble. Dad simply settled on “Pop.” The funny thing is, when Mom tried to teach the girls her grandma name, they kept pronouncing it “booty.” Mom would laugh and say, “No. Beau-u-u-u-ty!” She would stress the “u” sound over and over until they finally got it. Following my children’s lead, I often called my parents Beauty and Pop.
The girls looked up at Beauty with excitement. “We made it!”
Mom hugged the girls close. “We’re so happy you are here. Now where’s my little grandson?”
Elijah was asleep, still strapped into the car seat for the long ride from Dallas.
As Thad, my husband, got the luggage and gear out of our car, I wandered inside and breathed in the smells of the holidays. The candles were lit, music was playing over the speakers, and the fireplaces were burning. The kids’ tables were already set with new plates and place mats, and their room was decked out with toys, stuffed animals, and beanbags. My parents’ home was decorated beautifully, and I loved walking around to see if there were any new purchases peeking out.
“How do you like it?” Mom asked. “Did you see my new table runner? I love the fall colors, don’t you?”
“Oh, Mom.” I hugged her. “The house looks amazing, as always. How long have you been decorating, anyway?”
She shrugged. “Just a few weeks. This Thanksgiving couldn’t get here soon enough—I’m over the moon that everyone will be here this year.”
David, my older brother, lived in South Dakota; and my younger brother, Gabriel, lived in Lavon, just outside Dallas. Both their families were coming.
My dad peeked his head around the corner and made a funny face at the girls.
“Pop!” The girls jumped into my dad’s arms. “Happy Thanksgiving, Pop!”
“Hey, Fufu and Wuwu! How are my girls? Have you been getting into any trouble or have you been good?”
“We’re always good, Pop!”
My eyes filled with tears as I watched our girls with Dad. All the people I loved most in the world would be gathered under one roof for Thanksgiving. I was content and filled with gratitude.
Home sweet home.
WE HARDLY LEFT THE HOUSE all week. The cousins played, the adults conversed, and the food and desserts kept coming. Beauty and Pop had heated the swimming pool and hot tub, and they set out toys and bikes and balls in the back so the kids could play.
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