Burt and I always were goers before his dementia stopped us in our tracks.

Lately, my lament has been that we should have done more during his decline. Gone to dinner, taken more walks.

In part, this is a wish, that if we did more, we could’ve made more memories.

I’ve mentioned his expressed desire to attend the ballet. I also mentioned that I had wanted to take him and knew it could not be.

I think that desire had to do with how good it felt for him to share the experience. We got a lot of joy from the dance we saw.

We saw a lot of the ballet. When each performance ended, Burt would make his plan to head to the box office to buy tickets for another series of ballets.

Ballet, theater and baseball were our regular entertainments. We went to concerts and to Coney Island. These are the memories we made from before. There are many.

In truth, I know that Burt and I did as much as we could after he became ill. My wish for more also has to do with how much I miss him. He couldn’t have done much more. And what we did do, now stands out as happy moments.

We went to a French cafe for latte and madeleines after a trip for flu shots. That was with his first aide. We all sat outside.

The second year of his illness, he delighted in taking his aide to lunch at the Italian Village. He always went for walks with an aide; it pleased me to see them in deep conversation as they came home over the river ramp.

While he was in rehab after a fall, either he and an aide, or he and I would go to the activities room afternoons for movies or live entertainment. He stayed in rehab for a long time. I needed him to be mobile when he came home and he was diligent about his physical therapy. Until I hired an aide for a short shift, I visited all day with him. Once home, he had to use a walker but we could still go out.

For his 84th birthday, I threw him a surprise party. That’s always a fingers-crossed eventuality, but he loved it. So much so, that he wanted to take me out the next day. He walked a long couple of avenues for our date.

His party went so well that Burt also insisted I throw myself a surprise birthday party. I did and he enjoyed seeing friends again.

Those parties were highlights for us. His 85th was harder; he was not as social as he’d been.

Of course, I don’t regret having people over to fěte him.

It was just that the final decline had begun that October. Our last outing to get ice cream was the Sunday after that 85th birthday party on November 10th. We ran into one of our friends and Burt had a chat with her. Nice.

I regret that the next weekend, when he couldn’t get out of bed to go out with me, I responded with anger as if this was a willful resolve.

It became clear, even to me, that he couldn’t isn’t he wouldn’t.

It was sad but Burt and I didn’t go on our weekend outings after this; sadder still, he was now bedbound.

The outings on Saturdays and Sundays, to the river or the park, were my attempt to keep up our quality of life.

Some of our happiest moments from before were sitting together on the East River Esplanade with an eye on the water. Now, I was not sure that Burt knew I was there with him in the park. He was confused, and one day when I recapped the day on a Sunday evening, I said “We went to the pickleball court,” and he asked me why I didn’t say hello to him. More sadness, but it was good being outside and fresh air is always a good thing.

A Thanksgiving dinner at our community center 2 years before is another happy memory. There was a lot of hubbub and many strangers, but the staff made him feel special. He also ate the meal at a time when he wasn’t eating much. 

We spent a few more afternoons at caregiver appreciations at LHNH with mixed success.

I count visits to Burt’s doctors as good outings as well. Burt really enjoyed seeing all his care team. His GCP, his orthopedist, his neurologist are all nearby at WCM or HSS. I hired a service to help with wheeling him there. He loved the guys who drove his wheelchair, too.

Getting him ready and out the door was a challenge. Burt also did not like sitting in waiting rooms but he would usually chat with the fellow who pushed him to the  appointment.

Sometimes, he’d make a fuss of outrage at being kept waiting. Once in the exam room, he was convivial. He was happy meeting new nurses or techs. He loved his doctors.

On the way home, we sometimes stopped for ice cream. Making it an occasion.

Making it an occasion was a way of elevating our every day.

He elevated our every day, by turning a doctor’s appointment into an occasion, taking pleasure in greeting the folks he met, having fun, asking the medical folks questions about his condition.

Burt’s capacity to enjoy, to take joy, was a gift. To me.