So, you have lived a lifetime. Been very strong and independent. Some are born independent and some have been made to be independent. Men, women, fathers and mothers. Sisters, brothers, Aunts..... Slowly you find yourself becoming more and more forgetful. No problem, everyone is forgetful. A "senor moment". You are aware that people are looking at you strangely and talking to you differently. Your daughter, for some reason, always insists on driving you to the AM/PM when you want a cup of coffee. At first you think she just wants to come along but after awhile you start to get irritated. Jeez! Can't a guy just go get a cup of coffee. Finally, you dig in your heels. After all, you are strong independent man who owned businesses, raised a family, survived a heart attack. Hell, you were Lieutenant Governor of the local Kiwanis Association. Your daughter is clearly irritated as she hands you the car keys and stands with her arms crossed. "Fine" "Go" You feel bad that she is upset and you don't really know why. But, really! You've been driving this town for 35 years. You just want coffee. You back out of the driveway and down the street you go. In the rear view mirror you see "little darlin" still standing on the porch with her arms folded across her chest. Alright, you get your way and are on the road to.....? What the...? You can't...for your life....remember where you are suppose to be going. It'll come to you. Anxiety builds. That "senior moment" is now straight panic. You just want to get home. Everything looks familiar but you can't map out a clear course back to the house.That's the moment. That's the moment you intellectualize that you are truly losing your mind. It takes you 45 minutes to find your way two blocks back to the house. You spend the rest of the night mourning. A death has occurred. Yours.

Just inhale....

I lie here, day after day. What has it been? Seven years now, I think. If only. If only I could choke on something. Maybe tonight when Mary shoves that pink spongy thing in my mouth to clean my teeth. That's it. I will try to inhale at just the right time so I aspirate on the liquid. I could get pneumonia. Yes. I'll be very careful not to cough when someone is in the room so they don't suspect anything. Maybe that one girl who talks to me like I'm here. She asks me questions and looks for a response. I try to tell her but I just can't. She asks me if I am comfortable. She looks. She gets no response. What can she do anyway. She has to change my diaper.....every two hours, it seems. And, apparently they are supposed to rotate my position by shoving a pillow under my hip. It really hurts. That one girl asks me if I am comfortable. At least she asks. I wish she was here now. I just can't take this any more. lying in bed twenty four hours a day. The classical radio station is always on the radio. What a bore. Oh wait. Here comes someone. Aw, two girls. " So this is Mr. ---. He has been like this for more than seven years" I knew it. It has been seven years. "He can't see or hear anything" The hell I can't! "Always put a cloth on his penis when you change him cause he pees every time you take off his diaper. He always has a bowel movement so you have to clean him really good. You know, he had an advance directive before he had his stroke. He didn't want to be kept alive if this should happen, but his wife somehow fought it and won." Yes, I will try to inhale at just the right time......

Tomorrow is a brand new day

So, Mr. "H" sets off his tab alarm. An alarm that activates a very high pitch, loud scream that signals when someone who is not supposed to stand up...is trying to. I run down the hallway, following the alarm signal until I realize it is coming from Mr. "H". I find him lying in bed completely unaware that an alarm is screaming in his ear. He looks up at me with an expression that says "I know I am suppose to know you...but I don't know you...and, why in the hell are you here?" Apparently he simply rolled over which activated the alarm. I see that he has managed to take both of his arms out of his hospital gown which left him in a cocoon of fabric. This, he was also unaware of but clearly frustrated that something was very wrong. I push his arms back through the gown and reassure him that he is alright and doing "a very good job". Mr. "H" immediately starts pulling his arms back out of the gown so I tell him that if he keeps taking off his gown, people will see his unmentionables. That, he understands. Feeling confident he'll go back to sleep, I tell him to sleep well. He stops me and with labored effort, he says " You know.....you are..so...pretty....that...that....right, right then...I...just then...I...really wanted....to...to grab your head and kiss you" Of course I laugh and shake my finger at him and say "Now Mr. "H", you know I am married and so are you". He laughs too, and says " Well, that's why we don't do it!".

The agony of dementia is layered with comedy. They are never separate but never absorbed into one. Kind of like a good vinaigrette.