The Long-Term Care Truth About Flying

"I wouldn't fly with you," said Romeo.

"What?"

"If you were piloting an airplane, I wouldn't fly with you."

We were reading about small planes, about how a non-pilot wife landed a plane when her pilot husband became incapacitated. A flight instructor talked her down safely, giving her instructions and encouragement the entire time.

"Romeo, if I had a pilot's license, you wouldn't fly with me?"

"No."

"Why not? I think I'd be an awesome pilot."

Romeo rolls his eyes and turns away.

"I never told you this because it never came up," I said. "But at one point in my life I wanted to learn how to fly."

"What happened?"

"Never got around to it. Just like I never got around to learning how to fence. At least not yet."

"Fence?"

"Yep, fencing. You know -- beat, lunge, perry. All for one and one for all."

"Oh."

"So why wouldn't you fly with me? I'm an excellent driver."

"Driving isn't flying."

"Well, no," I agreed.

"In an airplane there's no road."

It took me a few minutes to stop laughing, and when I did: "That should make it easier to fly."

"No, no, no." Romeo was frustrated. He wasn't able to articulate his thoughts. I still don't know why he wouldn't fly with me. Perhaps if I bring up the subject in a few days he won't remember the conversation and we can start again. Maybe he'll be able to tell me then. Maybe then he'll be able to find the words. But more likely, not. Ahhh, this is dementia.