As I feared, the Window Visit was a disaster, at least for me. He will not remember.
After resisting for weeks, and a soul-rattling conversation with one of my sisters in sorrow, I gave in to the temptation.
I was told he was up and about and I thought, what if i never see him again? Just as i have been driven since the unrecognised pneumonia episode last July: “Better go check” so i did.
It was a little creepy scouting along the building, but the lawn area of the big dementia window, no longer mouldy or cracked (victory!), held bird feeders and nesting boxes i think, and sparkly windmills. Cheerful. It looked like someone cared.
So I knocked on.the window and a lovely care aide brought My Man over. After some cueing, he saw me, and i swear i saw him say “what are you doing there?”
Of course even if he could hear me no answer would make sense, so I just waved and blew kisses and held out my hand toward him.
Slowly he reached out to try to hold it, over and over. The glass of course was in the way, and he reached down and then upwards… seeking.
My heart shattered, again. Who knew there were so many pieces to break in a broken heart?
Soon he went wondering off, to try to give his afternoon muffin to another lady, said the care aide.
At some point we must learn to distinguish between health care and torture.