In the beginning, I only saw the symptoms.
I protected us from the damaging effects of his impulsiveness, poor judgment, and diminished cognition.
When he was aggressive, I did what I could so he didn’t hurt himself, me, or others.
I met his agitation with the “I’m sorries” I had learned from counselors easing me on this journey; he wasn’t buying that and saw through it for the pablum I had made of it.
It took me much longer to feel the losses he felt. Empathy was lagging as my judgment reeled from the shock of unusual and odd behaviors.
Compassion began to kick in as I saw what he was losing.
He’s lost everything, all control over his life, his money, his daily activities, his emotions. As Lewy has progressed and he’s declined, he’s lost touch with his losses.
He can’t fully trust who he is. Much of his resume of major life events is altered by his memory.
He’s not sure who I am. Sometimes, he is unsure which wife I am. Sometimes, he’s sure he’s speaking with the new one or the nice one. He is surrounded by imaginary friends and dead family.
He’s quick to anger. He suffers little disappointments with the impatient tantrums of a child.
The moods shift out of his control, sometimes spreading sunshine. He soaks up attention and affection.
His dementia is more than just the symptoms. It’s not the mishearing; the misunderstanding cause and effect; the slipping in and out of time; the tall tales, and sometimes violent ideation; the repeated questions and non-stop talking. It’s more than the extreme anxiety and neediness.
It’s more, and it’s so much less. It’s so much sadness and loss.
The good news in the grip of all this is that he is still resilient. We have many more miles to go on this journey. His strength will help see me through.
this is our life 