“When is he coming?” she asked.
“At noon,” I replied.
Several minutes later, “when is he coming?”
Again, I replied, “at noon.”
Then, five minutes later, “when is he coming?”
This time, irritated, I respond loudly, “he will be here at noon.”
When my wife first started doing this, I assumed she simply was not paying attention and I became frustrated having to answer the same question over and over. I soon realized there was something else going on. Her mind was not remembering my answers.
There were other signs. Her ability to process numbers faded. Simple addition and subtraction was not happening. It also became apparent that she could not plan and organize thoughts anymore.
Still, to most people around her, my wife seemed fine. She was happy, always glad to meet people, singing and whistling as she went about her daily activities. I watched as her family struggled to accept her new mental reality. Like me, at first they were frustrated with her inability to remember things, her confusion over simple tasks. Then, they too began to adapt.
We continue to adapt as her mind continues to deteriorate. We adapt to the sadness, the grief, the difficulty of dealing with the reality that someone we love is less and less able to connect with us each day.
the signs keep coming, like road signs proclaiming the destination is getting closer and closer. But no one wants to get there.
Yesterday, after returning from our daily walk, I watched my wife trying to unzip her jacket. Her hand kept raising the zipper up instead of lowering it. I could tell her mind was confused. Something was not happening the way she expected it to. I gently helped her unzip the jacket.
Her mind gets more confused now. She has trouble recalling names and finding the words she wants to say at times. Yet, there are spells when everything seems fine and part of me hopes this is so.
Then, another sign appears.