Visiting Paula

Work in advertising on the creative side, and you find out pretty quickly that you only ever get to work with about five genuinely great account people. If you're lucky.

My friend Paula was one of the greats.

I met her 22 years ago when we worked at an agency downtown that handled McDonald's operator business. She was brilliant, funny and passionate about great work. She didn't suffer fools lightly, and approached her job with something I've often been accused of - an unfrightened attitude. It was a thing of beauty to watch her direct it equally towards clients, creatives and management.

It was impossible not to respect her for it.

She lived in Long Beach, and was a great advocate for the city. It was her convincing arguments (along with the fact it's my wife's hometown) that led us to buy a house and move here. We even used her realtor because Paula said he was the best. And if she thought so, there was no reason for us not to.

For years, every Christmas we'd go to her house in Naples for the boat parade on the canals. We talked frequently, even if it was just to check in.

When Paula became VP of Marketing for Disneyland Resort, she asked me to be the consultant on her search for a new agency. I told her I'd never done anything like that, and she said, "I think you can do it. Why wouldn't you?" We developed the strategy, created the assignment and went to the agencies pitching the business together. I remember flying with her to see some agencies in San Francisco on a morning with 75 mph winds in Northern California. The plane was buffeted around, sometimes pretty violently, from about ten minutes into the flight until we landed. Paula, who was not crazy about flying in the first place, had my hand in a vise grip the entire time. The experience of being the creative consultant was exciting for many reasons, not the least of which was the chance to be working with her again.

Eventually Paula sold her house in Naples and moved into one a bit further north in Long Beach.

As life so often does, it got crazy and we lost touch for a few years, despite the fact we were in the same city and only minutes away from each other. Or so I thought.

This past June, I had lunch with my friend Alison who worked with Paula and me at that downtown agency. Alison was an account executive under Paula. She too had moved to Long Beach, and also eventually wound up working at Disney. I met her in Burbank and we had a wonderful lunch, kicking around old times and catching up.

At one point, I mentioned I'd lost touch with Paula, and asked if she knew what was going on with her. She sighed and said, "Oh Jeff." A sad look came over her face, a look that said I don't want to be the one to tell you but I have to. I braced myself.

She told me that Paula had extremely advanced Alzheimer's. I was devastated and heartbroken.

Paula isn't that much older than me, but apparently it runs in her family. It found her mother at a young age as well. Alison told me where Paula was, and there was no question that I was going to go visit her. But truthfully, the idea of seeing her without her really being there scared me.

It took me two months after that lunch to work up the courage to go.

Paula had been in a long-term care facility in Long Beach, but by the time my wife and I went to visit her last month, she was gone. She'd been moved to another facility. Apparently she had hit another patient and was sent to a hospital for observation and to have her meds adjusted. She wasn't accepted back to the facility because they were unable to manage her feistiness (they should've seen her at the agency).

They didn't have the information about where she was taken at their fingertips because, as it turned out, this incident had actually happened a couple months before my visit. But they did give me the name and number of her conservator who told me where to find her, and expressed his appreciation that I was going to visit her.

The facility she's currently in is not in a great part of Los Angeles.

But ever since lunch with Alison, Paula has never been far from my thoughts. And today, the day before Labor Day, I went to visit her.

Alison made clear to me in the most compassionate way she could that the Paula I knew, my friend that I loved, wasn't going to be there. The woman I was going to see would look like her, but she wasn't going to remember any of our history. She wasn't going to know who I was. Which for some reason felt okay, because I know who she is.

When I got to the facility, I asked for her. A nurse escorted me to the lock-up area, a section where the most advanced Alzheimer's cases are. There are signs all over the door going in warning that patients may try to fight their way out when you leave.

Once inside, the nurse said Paula would probably be walking around. I first saw her talking to herself, walking towards me in the hall. She looked pale and thin, and her dark brown hair, always meticulously styled, was completely gray and disheveled. The nurse told her she had a visitor. Unfazed by the fact she didn't know me, I introduced myself and took her hand. She held on tight, just like the flight to San Francisco.

I remembered Alison had told me not to ask her questions as that upsets her, but just to listen or speak in statements. We walked around the facility and I listened and watched as Paula had a conversation with herself almost the entire time. Occasionally I'd chime in with something, and she would look at me, agree, then go right back to her inner talk.

I kept wondering if the old Paula, my Paula was in there. And if she was, could I somehow bring her out. Maybe if I told her a story about us, or about one of the many good deeds she'd done for me over the years, that would spark her into the moment for a few seconds.

Never underestimate the power of denial.

Years ago there was an episode of St. Elsewhere where Dr. Mark Craig's (William Daniels) mentor Dr. David Domidian (Dean Jagger) was returning to the hospital. Mark was thrilled, then shattered to learn that his hero had advanced Alzheimer's. Towards the end of the episode, Dr. Domidian has a single moment of clarity where he looks at Mark, recognizes him and says his name.

I understand life isn't like it is in the movies or television. But even though I knew better, even though Alison had warned me, I couldn't stop myself from hoping for one of those moments.

At the end of my visit, I was holding her hand and told her I had to go. I was standing and she looked up at me and said, "Ok." I told her next time I'd bring my wife with me. Then I told her how good it was to see her, and how much I'd missed her over the years.

She looked up at me, smiled, and continued the conversation with herself. However at one point, one of the things she said was "I love you too."

That was my moment.