Archive for February, 2009

He looked up at the picture of us in NS 09/04 – “that’s a nice picture of us – I like how the,the, the whatever is in the background”. He was pointing to the ocean.

I asked if he meant the ocean. “Yes, I’ve never seen an ocean before.”

This from my Man who was raised on the ocean in NS.

Ever since diagnosis, he has been clingy, especially if we go out to visit, etc.

Ever since returning home from respite on Sunday, he has been super, super clingy. I always bring my laundry basket to the living room as he wants to be near me.

Tonight, I set it down on the sofa. He walked over and sat right next to me, announcing he needed a hug, “Not a big one, just some little ones.”

He follows me everywhere except the bathroom. I believe he fears being out of sight in case he is “left behind” again. It’s so sad but hopefully he will be Ok in a few days.

I, of all people, should have realized he wouldn’t remember my words. As I left his room the first day, told him I’d be back on *** date. Also, told him he definitely would be coming home – not staying in care forever.

Next time, I will:
(1) Write the promise of my coming back to pick him up

(2) Write that he will be coming home and they can’t/won’t keep him from me

(3) Take photos of all of us, his books, a quilt from our bed, the throw he has on his chair in the living room.

(4) Tape written date that I will return to his bedside table

If only I had – - -

We loaded his belongings into the car, I pulled out of the parking lot and was “lost” as took a different exit.

He had repeated over and over that he hoped it wasn’t a dream. I looked over at him and said, “I’m lost.” We booth burst out laughing, agreeing that only I could be lost by taking a different exit from a place. “This is proof you are not dreaming, Hon.”

Moments later I heard huge sobs, he was crying so much. I pulled over and held him. He still repeats that he hopes it’s not a dream. Today at 8:10am it was 48 hours since I arrived at his room.

Slowly it will get better with lots of hugs and love.

I tapped, then opened his door, “Hi!”

Toothbrush in hand, he turned toward my voice. Empty, ghostly gray eyes, devoid of all recognition, had replaced his baby blues. “Who are you?” He looked into my eyes very deeply.

“It’s me, Hon, it’s me.”

Dropping his arms, he stepped toward me crying, hugging me. “Is it really you or is this a dream?” (The RN with his meds turned to the window to give us a moment of privacy.)

Long ago we agreed on a secret code to identify each other. I used the code. Through his sobs, he said it must be real and not a dream.

We’re both exhausted. Will write later.