It was morning, after breakfast, and Romeo sat stiffly on the overstuffed chocolate brown leather loveseat in the third-floor lounge. I, cross-legged with beige skirt draped all around, sat facing his side. Once again, we were the only souls in the room."Last night, as I was falling asleep," Romeo said, "I felt your presence with me, very strongly. It was gigantic. You were with me."
Romeo had not experienced my presence previously. But I knew what he meant. Even before Romeo was overtaken by dementia, before he lived in a nursing home, I could feel his presence with me when we were apart. Not always. But when it happened, it was an unmistakable experience. Unmistakably him.
A couple of weeks ago, while on a walk, I felt Romeo's presence. It was huge, perhaps because I was outdoors, and one can be very large out in nature. As I walked, his presence moved with me as if it were part of me. He was content, quiet, loving. It made me smile, and I "settled in" to the feel of the two of us moving down the path during that long walk.
I've also felt Romeo's presence while he still lived at home. The last time I felt him hovering about me, we were in two different parts of the house -- he in the bathroom getting ready for bed and me at my desk tapping away at the computer keyboard. Suddenly, very suddenly, I sensed a being to my right, in front of the fireplace. The presence was about 12 feet tall, and thin, almost like a stick. The presence was, of course, Romeo. He told me that he was just checking in on me, hanging out with me. Nice.
So now Romeo is sensing my presence with him. Good. Very good. This is perhaps a victory over -- or in spite of -- his dementia.
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