Terrible clarity

When moments of awareness lead to awareness of losses

“Patti!”

My husband’s tone sounded urgent, so I put down my book and followed the sound of his voice. I found him pointing to a silk floral arrangement on a small table in a corner of our bedroom—gorgeous hydrangeas in shades of pink, lavender, and blue, artfully displayed in a vintage porcelain pitcher. It once belonged to a close friend and has been in our home since 2018, when that friend died and her mother gifted it to me. I cherish the arrangement; it reminds me of my friend, who loved flowers, antiques, and all things beautiful.

“Who is that?” Doug asked.

“Who is that?” I repeated, confused. “You mean, who did we get it from?”

“Yes.”

“From Wendy.”

Next, he pointed to a brightly coloured painting on the wall, one that has been in our home for more than two decades. “And who is that?”

“Debbie gave that to us when she visited one time. It’s from Ecuador. She lived there, remember?”

I watched his expression melt as he processed this information. I saw his eyes fill and his face fall. I don’t know what he was thinking, but it was clear that he didn’t remember. He had been trying to locate the source of these items in his mind and called to me in a panic when he couldn’t.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice rough. He turned away from me, picked up his free weights and began doing bicep curls.

I felt my own eyes filling and walked out. We both needed to collect ourselves. But a couple of minutes later, I went back into our room to check on him. “Hon—are you ok?”

“Yes,” he said. But I could tell from his demeanour that he wasn’t. I moved closer, and he spoke again. “It’s just that I think I’m going to be here with you for a little while,” he began. “And then I won’t be. You’ll be all alone. And that will be terrible.” His face betrayed his anguish.

I took his hands in mine. “Hon, if you die before I do, wait for me in heaven. Then you can show me around when I get there, okay?” I tried to keep my tone light.

“Okay.”

“And if I die first, I will wait for you. And I will show you around when you arrive. Deal?” I asked.

“Deal.” He smiled.

I hugged him. He hugged me back. We stood there in each other’s arms for what seemed a long time, until we both felt the sadness pass.

“Dementia creates strangers. Love overcomes strangeness.”

– From p. 268 in Dementia: Living In The Memories of God, by John Swinton.