Before sleep, an answerable question and things gone lost….
IT WAS BEDTIME. The meds were taken, teeth brushed, covers pulled up around Connie’s neck. I held her, kissed her cheek, stroked her hair. I felt the tears on my cheek.
“Why are you crying?”
“I love you so much. What did I do wrong,” she whispered.
“What do you mean,” I whispered back.
“What did I do wrong to end up like this? I want things to be liked they used to be.” She choked back a sob.
“So do I.” I said. I knew what she meant.
She wanted to be sitting on our balcony with a glass of wine before dinner; going to yoga class; running errands; planning and taking trips; visiting children and grand-children; going out into the community and doing good deeds; spending quite time together, walking through the old streets of our downtown, stopping for a glass of wine or an ice cream cone.
She wanted all of that and so did it.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered. “Some families have cancer, some heart attacks and strokes, some car crashes and disasters. This is what we have. We didn’t do anything and you certainly didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I just want it back,” she said.
“I know. I know.”
I stroked her hair, pulled the covers up to her chin, told her I loved her then left, walking into the night feeling the weight of unanswerable questions and loss.
Another coming of dementia’s dark night.
Rich Heiland, has been a reporter, editor, publisher/general manager at daily papers in Texas, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio and New Hampshire. He was part of a Pulitzer Prize-winning team at the Xenia Daily (OH) Daily Gazette, a National Newspaper Association Columnist of the Year. Since 1995 he has operated an international consulting, public speaking and training business specializing in customer service, general management, leadership and staff development with major corporations, organizations, and government. Semi-retired, he and his wife live in West Chester, PA. He can be reached at [email protected].