The confusion

It’s hard to resist the urge to say “really? Really, you don’t know that your first wife was named Susan?”

Just one of a series of “really’s” that his infliction brings to the fore.

As we’re on a high of successes, his confusion is more unwelcome. I feel it like the contradiction pulling me down from the top of the roller coaster.

We pulled off a successful birthday party for me. Burt’s anxiety about it extended to the event itself when he took a long time preparing; once he showed up, he seemed in his social element. He called me out of the party before he was ready to participate to make sure I offered food and drink. Ever the thoughtful host.

The next day, he initiated a trip to a restaurant. This was only the fourth time we dined out since his diagnosis. He ordered scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and barely ate, but we had a pleasant time.

The walk to the restaurant, like our trip last weekend to a Starbucks, was challenging for Burt. He is always cold, and that was a factor in his complaint, as was wondering where we were headed and how much longer it would take.

Seeing him do so well and recognizing the impairment of his dementia are two thoughts I wish I didn’t have to juggle.

The confusion is real. The successes are real.