13th March
2008
Last night we were in bed – sleep, please sleep – it’s 1:30am.
I whispered to him, “Still awake? What are you thinking about?”
He was recalling his basketball coach from high school days. I guess the guy told him he could “dribble like the devil” so go with it.
Not exaggerating, I’ll bet I heard the story 20 times, over and over. The last time he told it to me, he asked me, “His name was Mr. ***, wasn’t it?”
Surprisingly, in our nearly 43 years of marriage, I had never heard it before – so I guess the 20 repetitions made up for the past years:)
I think that was the hardest…my mother would tell a story every time with the same enthusiasm as if it was the first time she had told it. After a time I would just smile and say “oh”.
My daughter-in-law’s mother worked with AD patients. She told me not to argue reality with her. I think that was my best piece of advice. At the nursing home, she would ask if I could spend the night with her. I would just say “Do you want me to?” She, of course, would say yes. I would then say “sure, that will be nice”. She was happy and I was too. When I had to leave, I would tell her I had to go take care of the babies. She still remembered that I worked with sick babies. She would smile and say yes, you have to take care of them.
She would walk me to her door and wave goodbye, just like she would do when I would leave her house each time to drive home.
Oh, to be able to do that again…
Touching, Beverly
Hi, Jean.
Knowing you, I bet you never even led on that he told you the same story 20 times! You have so much patience for this man you love so dearly. I admire you more than you will know. You are teaching me how to love “… in sickness and in health”!
Much love to you today,
Angie xoxo
Thanks, Angie, no, can’t let on – it is kind of sweet because he always leads with,
” I may have told you this before – - – “
Wow, both your and Bev’s story touches me deeply. Your hearts are so dear to respect and not reject. I remember my mother walking out of the room once in the middle of a grandma story. I went out and said, “Mom, she wasn’t finished.” My mom said, “we both know how it ends.” It was too hard for her to sit and listen to again. So, I remember the frustration, yet, can hardly fathom the pain. Bless you both. Annette