Was feeding Wayne yesterday when he refused the food, sat and stared at me.
It was exactly like we do when we think or do know someone and the wheels are going.
“It’s me, Jean, your wife. Wayne and Jean and Brian and Mark.”
He focused a bit and then smiled enough to light up the ward.
“I love you.”
(Again, we were sitting with the cop and his wife and he just marveled. Told Wayne he loved his big smile.He hasn’t spoken those words in awhile. “Merry Christmas to me:)
It always touches me when a person says, “So how’s Wayne doing?”
We both know he will never “heal or get better” but the mere fact he has a name and is remembered by name just makes my heart swell with joy and thanksgiving.
Some people have never met Wayne but he’s still “one of us” – that is so wonderful.
Usually I’m OK talking about him and his condition but the other day after inquiring about Wayne, the person asked how long we have been married.
I couldn’t talk at first and then croaked out 48 years before succumbing to tears which overflowed.
I felt sorrier for her than for me as she felt badly but after regaining my composure, assured her it was a wonderful question:)
This applies also to families suffering illness of a loved one – we tend to shy away from asking but it’s important that person is remembered in conversation – however difficult at the time.
When I visit Wayne, I take treats such as grapes, his fav apples or bran muffins.
Yesterday one of the residents saw the food, got up and brought a bib for Wayne.
The resident no longer talks so I was careful he meant for us to have it.
It’s amazing one can figure out what a resident is trying to say most times.
Dirty rotten Alzheimer’s, you stole the mind of a PhD in physics. I hate you more than you will ever know -and all my friends and family hate you, too!
Wayne was doing his pre-flight inspection at lunch today.
Often he has trouble forming his words but it was clear as a bell as he called out the pre-flight. I actually got goosebumps and the fellow sitting at the table with us was just amazed.
After he was done the visual, he started rolling numbers off his tongue like no body’s business.He brought his bib up to his mouth and kind of “worked” it and I think it was his mic. I flew enough with him to know he was back in the cockpit and ready to roll. He reached down to his right and fumbled around a bit, leaning way over in his chair. He said, “That’s strange.” I knew he was trying to pick up his log book and it wasn’t where he knew it should be:)He was playing around with my black purse which maybe seemed like his flight kit.
One of his last phrases was, “You like that?” and he turned in his chair. I’m sure he was talking to Brian, our younger son.
At 3 years of age, Brian loved it if Dad did a few dipsy doos and waggled the wings.
I have goosebumps as I type this and would love to phone the guys and tell them to read this post but I’m a blubbering idiot right now. Maybe I’ll email them – - -
Yesterday I asked Wayne if he would like a glass of water (I had been pushing milk and juice).
“I’d rather have wine.”
The nurses and I all looked at one another so surprised at his voicing his thought so perfectly.
Years ago, we were at our friends’ house and she said to Wayne, “Want some Wayne, wine?”
This was at least 25 years ago and we still laugh at her twisted words.
Wayne was in really good form and smiling every minute I was there. My early Christmas gift:)