She cried last night. She was afraid. Something was unsettled in her mind, but she could not explain it. I hugged her close and kept whispering that I loved her. Slowly, my wife began to relax and eventually fell asleep.
I lay awake and thought about what had just happened. My wife and I have never talked about her dementia, her failing mind. Months ago, when I realized what was happening, I’d wanted to have that conversation, but, by then, it was too late. Her brain could not grasp dementia rationally. Instead, she became angry, upset because she thought I was criticizing her. I’ve not mentioned the subject since. Yet part of her knows that something is wrong.
Sometimes, in the middle of another conversation, she will stop and ask me, “what’s happening? What’s the matter?”
And I hug her even tighter.
tio stib
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Travels with Tio 
I think I am right in saying you are blind ( apologies if I have got that wrong ) and now I hear that your wife has dementia. How come some of the hardest lives are given to the nicest people? I will never understand that but my heart goes out to you both and I wish you well
Thank you for your kind thoughts. Yes, I’m blind, but strange as it may seem, I’ve come to realize the blessings of my blindness. I’ve been forced to live a much simpler life, which matches well with the needs of my wife. My mind takes care of the practical things hers can’t deal with and her eyes and vibrant zeal for life tell me about all the delights around us, from hummingbirds to passing babies to sunsets. If blindness had not forced me to surrender my active life style, I might not have slowed down enough to appreciate the intimate richness of a truly shared life.
Again, thanks for your kind thoughts and best wishes!
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