Call me!

A recent revelation that perhaps Burt recognized me as a presence on the phone was confirmed. Sort of.

He heard me speaking with a visitor in the livingroom; the voice led to his asking Ruthy where Tamara was.

A kindred carer reported that her husband insisted on calling her on the phone. Like me on such occasions (and Burt had made  similar requests), she objected that she was right here.

Unlike me, she acquiesced, and they had cordial conversations, which her husband would repeat to her afterward. He had the pleasure of the experience and the recap. Actually, I suppose, they both did.

This falls under the rubric of entering their reality. Advice one often hears in the world of care for a person with dementia.

There were times, when Burt used to call me as I was coming home.

I think I overvalued my in-person presence by hanging up as soon as I came in the door.

Now I know. If he asks me again as he has when I’ve said “it’s Tamara, your wife” to bring her to him, I will resort to a cell call with him. I’ll dial me up from his phone and I’ll answer mine. Who knows, perhaps we’ll chat.