Just in case anyone of you, dear readers, got the mistaken impression that all is now love, hugs, and roses, i feel i should clarify. In large part for that someone like the less experienced me for whom i really write, trying to tell what is coming down in the future for we who love people with this soul-destroying disease.
The next three days i went to see my love he was completely out of it. Babbling, hallucinating, afraid “of everything,”not sure of who i was except he felt i was safety, beloved and beautiful.
Not sure he would have even recognised music if it was played. Words meant nothing to him although at one point he asked, “Have you seen my tire?”
“Tire?”It slipped out before I grabbed the question back. Quickly recovered, “oh, the car?”
“Yes of course.” This conversation was already longer than his attention span and no longer important.
“Oh it’s in the parking lot, the brake is on and it’s all locked up.”
He nods approvingly and points at the little children running around, who only he can see.
“So where’s that other one who is supposed to be here? D…d…delores?”
“Right here. I’m Delores.”
“I’m your wife.”
He looks bored and wanders off on his endless rounds. He appears to feel all the women with long dark hair (unlike my grey) are Delores. Guess that’s ok with me. Lightens the load.
The care aide who jokes and dances with him walks in and Don breaks into a huge adoring smile. And wanders off again.
“I get tired.”
“Yes you must get tired.”
“Oh how will they get here?”
By now i too am exhausted and emotionally paralysed. I hastily leave.