January 21 is Ken’s and my wedding anniversary. The day came and he took turns being any one of his three personalities — as usual. Some time around 4:00 he seemed to be Ken so I asked if he would like to go for dinner and, perhaps, a movie for our anniversary. He looked at me with a questioning smile then asked, “When did that happen?” “A long time ago,” I answered, but mention food and he is ready to go.
We went to a small, intiment restaurant owned by our daughter, Julie, which during these economic times is struggling to stay open. We sat in what has become my favorite corner and ordered dinner — a small dinner. He becomes aggitated when he has to wait very long for anything. Usually we go to some fast food place where he gets instant food.
Even before our meal arrived he became Mr. Hyde and wanted to hurry because he had to get home for his wife who should be home from work. I rushed as much as I could, considering it was hot soup, telling him we would leave as soon as I finished my dinner. He began pacing around the restaurant and I could see that he was becoming aggitated. Rather than have him bother the other customers, I decided it best to leave. I asked for the check and our server said it had been taken care of. Leaving a tip, I picked up my coat and purse and peeked into the kitchen saying, “Thanks for dinner, Julie.” “Happy anniversary,” she sighed, and we left. Her husband, Tim, caught us as we were driving out of the parking lot. “I thought you were going to hang for a little while,” he said. “No,” I replied. “Ken has to get home to find his wife. I came with my husband, but shortly after we arrived the evening turned into a bummer of a blind date.” Try a little humor, I thought, to cover the pain. We said our good evenings and I drove home. I cried all the way. Ken didn’t notice, and even if he had I doubt he would have cared.
Foolish woman, I thought to myself. I knew better. What did I expect? Perehaps a miracle — a lucid moment — when he would remember who we were and our life together. It didn’t happen. Of course not. After five years, his Allzheimer’s is well-advanced. On his blog, Dr. David, mentioned “a rotting mind.” I have called it the same thing and it might as well be as there are hardly any reference points remaining; just a mass of tangles and plaque. It’s almost as if my husband has died and I’m taking care of what’s left. However, I know I am fortunate that I can still care for him at home. I just won’t plan — or expect — any romantic evenings with my husband, but every so often, when the sun is bright, he will remember just a little and ask, “You know what?” “What?” I answer. “I love you.” And for that moment he’s Ken, and I am grateful for the reminder.
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