Alfred
Johnson is not a professional writer. But this former Oregon State Trooper
knows how to tell a tale in his book Unmerciful Fog: My Journey
with Alzheimer's Disease
Dementia. And both of us were commercial
fishermen in the Northwest. In 1975, my dad granted me a full share of the
salmon catch, in the waters of north Puget Sound. And in the late 1980s, I made
good money fishing in Southeast Alaska. For Johnson, it was the coast of
Oregon.
There are two subjects that are precious to Johnson. The
first is hunting. But since his diagnosis, Johnson has turned a new leaf. Now
he enjoys nurturing kittens. Dementia can do strange things to the human brain.
I happen to be a churchgoer. But to Johnson, religion is central to his identity.
This is when Johnson’s narrative comes fully alive in a big way. And sometimes
people with dementia are not reliable narrators. Just weeks after my diagnosis,
I was summoned to jury duty. At that time, my mind was still nimble. Those days
are long gone. I asked my wife, Paula, if I could serve on the jury, if chosen.
Paula quickly shot down the idea. No one with any form of dementia can serve on
a jury. The reason, of course, is that jury people have to have to be competent.
The background of this section appears during a hunting
outing.
It appeared that Johnson is hunting alone. Or is he? He can hear the highway,
parallel to him. Chapter II is quite impressive. The chapter header is The Train Has Left the Station. This is
when Johnson’s talents come to the fore.
Johnson had been a big-game hunter for more than three decades.
But his tastes have changed. The larger transformation was a deeply religious
one. My favorite scene in the book involves Johnson getting lost in the woods. Long
before I was diagnosed, I had a very poor short-term memory, and now the idea
of being in the woods alone terrifies me. The venue was eastern Oregon, with
his friend, Dusty. “During the trip ... the thick dark layer of clouds had
descended and obscured the peaks of the mountainous landscape. I scanned the
forest for wildlife while admiring the beautiful forest.”
But things did not remain bucolic. According to Johnson, after
stalking a deer, he realized he was lost. “After wandering aimlessly through the
forest a while, I arrive at a hilltop that provided a good landmark vantage
point,” but he then realizes he “had walked in a circle.” He then feels a
sensation many people living with dementia will recognize, “My anxiety level
rises as darkness begins to engulf me, and I continue the desperate hike toward
the sound of the elusive highway. I finally realize that the sound is not
highway noise, but rather, the wind blowing through the trees.” Johnson stops
and prays at that moment, and gains “a sense of inner strength” that helps him
to keep walking on. With renewed hope, he “ponder[s] which direction will most
likely lead me to the highway,” and just then he hears an old truck
approaching.
Johnson is alluding to Christian doctrine. “When I arrive
at the passenger door, the man in pleasant tone, states, ‘My son, walk down the
road, the highway is 3 miles, you can’t miss it.’” Johnson interprets the man’s
arrival as a sign that “Jesus Christ had answered my prayers to encounter an
angel.”
I do have one criticism: Subtle readers should
be able to figure out things on their own. But I salute my fellow writer. It is
quite an act for a novice writer. And, my sense is that Johnson wants readers,
as almost all writers do. But Johnson, I suspect, doesn’t aim for a large
audience. His audience is God.
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