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Posts Tagged ‘jails’

It’s the 22rd of December and, as always, there are a few things I needed to buy.  Early evenings are a perfect time to shop.  Everyone — at least a lot of people go home for dinner.  We shopped, stopped for a quick bite to eat and were home before 8:00.

It didn’t work that well on December 23.  The parking lot was packed, the stores crowded and the lines long, but we endured.   Another man standing behind us in line, much younger than Ken, began a conversation asking what he did before retirement.   In no time at all, Ken was telling him about his former work — high rise construction — then moving to a company that made locking devices for jails.  Our in-line time passed quickly and our fellow shopper was totally impressed by Ken’s career;  “so interesting and diversified,” Ken’s new friend had commented.

I was absolutely amazed that my husband remembered so much.  Is there a magic door to memory which can be triggered to open with certain words, certain times or places, questions?  I don’t have the secret key which periodically unlocks that mysterious entrance. It just happens with no explanation.  More often than not Ken glances at me when asked about his life’s work pausing at the stranger’s question and looking a little bewildered.  When that’s the case I fill in a few of the important spots hoping to jump start some recall from Ken, adding jibs of encouragement such as, “You remember that, Hon.”  At times it worked, but other conversations ended with me explaining that he had Alzheimer’s.  “Sorry,” was the usual reply.  But not this night.  It’s been such a long time since he was able to speak of his career, to tell his own story, talk about himself and what he had accomplished with his life.  I was not only amazed, I was delighted.  For a small space in time I had my husband back.

We didn’t stop for dinner this night, but broke away from the crowds and came home to eat.  As we neared the house Ken said, “This is where I live.  I wonder if my wife is at home?”  Memory vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

I felt it wise to leave our packages in the car and he didn’t notice in the dark which is good.  If I bring in several purchases, some of them disappear.   One night I noticed he looked into a bag containing several battery-operated candles.  “These are mine,” he stated.  I didn’t challenge him, wondering if he had plans for them or even if he knew what they were.  Quietly I followed him down the hall as he went into our bedroom.  Peeking around the corner I watched where he hid them; up on a shelf in his closet.  I would get them later.  Possession for Ken means ownership.  In the confusion of his AD Ken seems to believe everything we buy is for him.  We play hide-and-seek — he hides and I seek — searching for my son’s shirt and books for the grandchildren.   We play this game often, but AD isn’t a game, searching has become a necessity.  So it’s just easier to leave as much in the car as possible until I’m ready to wrap and put them under the tree. Interesting that he doesn’t bother a wrapped gift.

I’m grateful for moments like standing in line, when he’s lucid, even if it’s only for a little while.  During that time we are a couple — a husband and wife — out buying Christmas presents for those we love, and it feels so good — almost like being “normal.”

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