Zombies. They "came to life" so to speak in 1968 with George Romero's Night of the Living Dead. In the clip below, characters from Shaun of the Dead (2004), study the characteristics of these terrifying corpses.
According to these media constructions, the following constitute the monsters we know as zombies:
Slow, brainless movements, "drunk sleepwalking"
Empty expressions with a hint of sadness perpetually on the face
Only able to make animalistic groans that do not indicate any internal thoughts
Unable to recognize people for anything other than food
Part of a collection of individuals who are rapidly being infected and zombified
Signs of physical rot and deterioration
The zombie can be described by the work of feminist disability scholar, Susan Wendel: “Something more powerful than being in a different body is at work. Suffering caused by the body, and the inability to control the body, are despised, pitied and above all, feared. This fear, experienced individually, is also deeply embedded in our culture," (1989, p. 112).
We don't just fear the bodily changes that are associated with Alzheimer's, we also fear the consequence of complete dehumanization that we view as a symptom of Alzheimer's. However, I don't think a disease itself can cause dehumanization. It is a quality that we decide to collectively assign to those who do not meet our standards of personhood that are often based in independence and the ability to recognize others.
To explain how medical and cultural perspectives continuously influence and reinforce one another’s ideas of Alzheimer’s, Behuniak draws from social construction theory which seeks to understand the process of how subjective ideas become culturally objective facts (Berger & Luckman, 1976). I must stress that this does not argue that Alzheimer’s disease is socially constructed rather than a biological process, but instead demonstrates how the language we use to describe Alzheimer’s becomes so culturally significant that subjective language based on opinions of personal experience develops into objective and institutionalized facts that are applied to everyone living with the disease. Unconditionally negative experiences in Alzheimer’s caregiving journeys become talked about as inescapable ‘facts’ about Alzheimer’s that are a secured fate for all patients and their caregivers (Sabat, 2003). Dekker (2018) theorizes that these constructions lead to the belief that a life with Alzheimer’s is not a life worth living. This negatively impacts people with Alzheimer’s, their quality of care, Alzheimer’s caregivers, family members of those with Alzheimer’s, and people who are predisposed to developing Alzheimer’s later in life.
Now keeping all of that in mind, watch this video:
Where are the above qualities of zombies that we understand as ingrained in the experience of Alzheimer's? How could the above clips be described as depictions of someone undergoing a living death, full of suffering and void of meaning? The reality for Alzheimer's patients and their family caregivers does not have to be this monstrous fate.
My grandma had danced her whole life and only sharpened these skills in the last years of her life. She got us all to dance. Music became one of the most comforting and familiar aspects in my family's life.
These clips show recognition, joy, mobility, and love; all qualities that zombification denies Alzheimer's patients.
One moment from this video is a perfect example of these themes being ever present in the lives of people who are even in late stages of Alzheimer's.
It shows my grandparents in March of 2021, dancing to Harvest Moon by Neil Young after dinner. Life continues on in the background, the sink disposal runs loudly in the middle of it. But my grandparents carry on swaying to a song they've danced to since the 90s. Harvest Moon has always beem one of their songs. It describes them and their journey perfectly from start to finish. In this video, when my grandma hears the line "When we were lovers, I loved you with all my heart,"
She lets out a chuckle, kisses my grandpas cheek, and holds him closer. Her mind knows the song. Her body knows the song. And she knows how they relate to the man in front of her, who she almost always remembered. This video doesn't show a man holding on to the corpse of the woman he loved for over fifty years. It shows Jim and Dawn, holding each other as they always did. Dancing as they always did. Living as they always did.
In Lushin's The Living Death: Alzheimer's in America, he states that Alzheimer's "is one of the cruelest ways to die- for both the patient and the family,” (1990, p. 12).
Even on Dawn's death bed, she refused this idea and the death metaphor that accompanies it which regards these days as the final point of suffering where the hospice bed is filled by a soulless body (Lushin, 1990; Behuniak, 2011; Schweda & Jongsma, 2022). Instead, she was constantly communicating her state of comfort, her desire to hold hands, or the need to smooch her husband. Our last week spent together was filled with so many memories. Our hospice team checked in every other day and noticed how comfortable and happy she was. We listened to our music. Throughout our two years together, every time she loved a song and sang or dance along, I added it to ‘Grandma’s Party Playlist’ which I would then put on in difficult moments or when she would feel agitated. In the last week of her life, this music filled the background of her room while we sat with her.
About four nights before she died, I had briefly stepped out of her room. I was in the kitchen and could faintly hear the playlist. Suddenly, the volume increased and the song changed to ‘Karma’ from Taylor Swift’s most recent album. I rushed in thinking that somehow my Spotify had glitched and needed to be changed before it startled her too much. When I came in, my grandma and grandpa were happily swaying their hands to the song.
“We wanted something new! Grandma says she likes it” Said my grandpa
My grandma smiled from her bed with her eyes closed “I love every bit of it.”
Even in days before her death, she loved life’s aspects of unfamiliarity and turned to an album she’d never listened to over music that had been biographically significant in her life. And all this time I thought she only wanted to listen to music she knew! Again, she always proved us wrong. She was alive and had opinions and often knew what she wanted. Instances of miscommunication were often cases where myself and other family members misinterpreted her communication; not the other way around. She gave us the information we needed to feel comforted ourselves by her contentment. These days were meaningful and had I not been there, I would’ve missed the best memories of my life.