The phone rings. I see it is the care home and as always, my heart sinks.
He is sleeping so much, and i feel the separation so keenly that i am generally in a paralysis of fear and despair.
There is a familar humming and stuttering.
“Hi,” says the familair voice of the nurse. “It’s Don. He wants to talk to you. I asked him if he wanted me to phone you and he said yes.”
Astounded, I say “Oh, he is having a Very good day.”
There followed some love talk, (the nurse said he was kissing the phone,) and the noises we share to communicate sometimes and then, I swear, he said “What are we doing here?”
Stunned and knowing nothing much made sense to him anymore, i improvised – “There’s a war on and no one is allowed to move around, but I will come to you as soon as the war is over and they let me.”
I said i would come to the window tomorrow and he said “yes.”
The nurse reported that he had moved off singing and dancing, and she had to go help someone else.
A rotten day has turned around in what feels like a small miracle.