Free A Lucky Life Interrupted by Tom Brokaw

stubborn resistance to anyone who volunteered to help. Yet he was natively smart, a voracious reader and a public policy wonk. Earlier in his Denver stay I had introduced him to former governor Dick Lamm, and Lamm had said, “Bill actually knows about and cares about municipal transportation. And a lot of other issues under the radar.”
    In the family he was famously stubborn and outspoken after a childhood of painful shyness. As one of his stepsons put it, “There is the way everyone agrees on and then there is Bill’s way.”
    We all worried that this stubbornness would make another move difficult, this one to an assisted living facility. Mary, the advocate, found a new facility in Lakewood, a well-organized three-floor home for seniors with the onset of dementia, the middle stage, and those who are deep, deep into the dreaded disease. It had all the perks of modern living: a coffee and snack bar, a well-appointed dining room, a small theater with a giant television screen, and small but comfortable apartments. The surrounding grounds were parklike, with recently planted trees and a lawn sloping down to a new development of suburban homes.
    These facilities are a growth industry, with the number of deaths from Alzheimer’s having increased 68 percent between the years 2000 and 2012. By 2025 the number of people age sixty-five and older with Alzheimer’s is expected to climb another 40 percent, to more than seven million nationwide.
    The stark numbers don’t stop there. It is the sixth leading cause of death in the United States, the fifth leading cause of death for those sixty-five and older.
    If a cure is not found, the cost of Alzheimer’s is expected to soar to $1.2 trillion by 2050 from $203 billion in 2013. It will drive up the cost of the already overburdened Medicare and Medicaid by 500 percent in the same period.
    When I visited Bill’s prospective new home the lobby was filled with residents planning day excursions or summer bus trips to Mt. Rushmore, in South Dakota. One perky woman, about my age, gray-haired with a new permanent, said, “Say, you look familiar. Who are you?” I told her and she said, “Well, you have to come to my birthday party tomorrow. We’re going to have fun.” I said, “Oh, I am so sorry, I have to leave today.” And then, plumbing for more information, I added, “You look so young. How old are you?” She shot me a stern look and said, “You think if I knew that I’d be in here?!?” And burst into laughter.
    Bill could be happy here, I thought.
    He moved without much complaining and it was another opportunity to clear out more of his accumulated stuff, including wine, cookware, and sporting goods equipment, most of which had not been used in a long time.
    Dealing with dementia patients is a delicate dance for family members, caregivers, and the afflicted. It is one step compassion, two steps patience, three steps deception. After initial protests about discarding some personal belongings Bill quickly forgot he owned them, and by then they were out the door and on their way to the Salvation Army.
    Earlier he gave up his car when Mary persuaded him it needed a complete inspection and then conspired with the dealer to load up the estimate of costs so it would be impractical for him to pay them. He reluctantly agreed to sell the car and relied instead on a livery service.
    Bill’s new home was part of a boom in assisted living facilities around the country, one more manifestation of our aging demographics. The staff was well trained and responsive to our inquiries and requests. He had a sunny one-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen. It was a good fit. It was also expensive. His housing, medical care, and association with the highly efficient Mary ran about $90,000 a year. We worked out a formula for Bill to pay his primary expenses from his inheritance and Ipicked up some incidentals, relieved I was in a position to help immediately and when Bill’s nest egg ran