Visiting

Visited Gregory yesterday. Arrived before dinner and visited. Sat during dinner and visited. Went back to his room after dinner and visited.

Visited. What does that mean?

In our narrow world it means repetition and simplicity. Playing, eating, sipping water or juice, watching South Pacific (over and over again,) putting on a "Peaceful the Bear" puppet show.

Sometimes just quietly hold hands while we sit together, him in his wheel chair and me on a stool at his side. He doses off. I look at him closely, wondering.

The other day, my outer voice said, "I miss Gregory."

My inner voice said, "You shouldn't miss Gregory. He is still with you."

I realized that what I miss is my old life with Gregory. In many ways even when he was a lot more available that "old life" had passed with only the memories left.

It was an abrupt, unexpected ending last January 2014 when I had to call 911 to help me deal with his violence and then to find Lieberman Memory Care Center for him.

But that was ten months ago and both Gregory and I have settled into our new lives.

What I miss is living with a person in a relationship that has 40 years of experience and practice. I miss the little sound bites, little sayings, little doings that no longer exist. I miss our conversations. I miss waking up in the morning next to him. I miss sharing a dinner out. There is so much I miss.

But amazingly enough, Gregory and I continue to build new experiences based on his current level of ability. I pop a mini-cookie into his mouth and he replies "mmmm." I stick a pretzel rod into his mouth and let go. He knows to reach up and hold it and finish eating it.

If the half a cup of water is left close enough, sometimes he reaches over picks it up to take a drink. When he gets nervous that his wheel chair is being pushed down the hall too quickly, I reply, "No, it's OK. I am a safe drive. A very safe driver."

We do "forehead kisses" by leaning our foreheads against each other in a 30 or 60 second "embrace." We kiss on the lips. I make a loud smacking, high school newly learned how to kiss sound to make sure he gets the idea. Recently he has begun making the sound too. Sometimes when we kiss he says, "More."

He does his "jabber routines" in various languages. They make no sense but he is able to carry on and then we both giggle at his joking in Russian, Yiddish, Italian, Insane Person.

He will give me a "look" and I will ask, "What?" He will say "What?" in return. We go back and forth maybe some 6 or a dozen times: What? What? What? What? Then we giggle.

When he tries to say something or tell me something and gets frustrated at being unable to do so, all I have to do is say, "I know." And he calms down, trusting that I do understand. Sometimes I do, most of the time I only understand that he is upset and that my sound bite can settle him.

I tell him stories about his, our past and he seems to enjoy them. Sometimes he gets melancholic but usually with a sadness of joy at remembering.

In his world, our life is full. In my world, I am content. Or as I say "STRANGELY CONTENT."