Asking for Money in Dementiaville

Planned Parenthood, Foundation for International Community Assistance, Greater Yellowstone Coalition, Wildlife Conservation Society, The Trust for Public Land, Save Tibet, Doctors Without Borders, etc., etc., etc.

These are some of the organizations that Romeo gave money to when he was able to care for his own finances. There are about 40 other organizations that Romeo contributed to.

Throughout our time together, he trimmed the list down to only one organization. I won't say which. Just suffice it to say that all of the other organizations still send him requests for money. Every day I receive a stack of mail consisting almost entirely of requests from these various groups. Every day I go through the unusually large stack of mail that's delivered, every day resenting the fact that I must do this. Most days, there is only one or two pieces of mail for me (mostly bills) -- some days, not one envelope is for me.

Lately, however, I've noticed that this stack, the daily stack of mail that comes every day, which used to be about two inches high, has now dwindled to perhaps half an inch tall. That's good for the trees, the environment. It's good for me, too. I do tire of this daily reminder of Romeo's changed condition. Sometimes it's painful, the daily visions that come forth of Romeo and the joyful time he spent every day going through this stack and dutifully writing checks to each of these organizations. How he looked forward to the mail every day, and how he enjoyed donating his money to them. At other times, these memories bring a smile to me. Recently, though, they only make me yearn for the old days when Romeo was able to function normally, for the old days before dementia had a strong hold on him, for the old days when he lived here with me.

Part of me looks forward to the day when the daily mail brings no mail to him at all. When all the envelopes are addressed only to me. When the requests that come to Romeo from charities and humanitarian and environmental organizations no longer come in the mail. When they stop coming all together. And then there's the part of me that dreads the day.

Do You Know Who I Am?

I enter Romeo's room, once again not knowing what to expect. Again I pull a chair to his beside, make myself comfortable. He smiles, says hello.

I ask the burning question, the inevitable question. "Romeo, do you know who I am?"

He is amused. He chuckles. "You silly goose. Of course I do!" He laughs again.

I have to hear him say my name...just in case he thinks I'm someone else. I have to know for certain that he really, really, really knows who I am. Besides, I love the way he says my name. "Romeo, would you please say my name? You know how I love to hear you say my name."

He takes my hand in his, searches my eyes to make our connection deeper, and says, "Juliet, my beloved wife, the love of my lifetimes, I love you."

He continues. "Juliet, in our next lifetime, we must promise each other that we'll be together all our adult lives."

"Yes, and that we'll be healthy, no dementia."

"No dementia."

We remain still and silent for quite some time, each of us lost in our private thoughts of a life together, sans dementia.

Coming Out of the Fog in Dementiaville

Once again I walk into Romeo's room at the nursing home, pull a chair to his bedside. I catch his gaze, smile, hesitate to ask the question but forge ahead with it anyway.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are Juliet, my wife."

Yes, yes, yes!!!

Romeo continues. "I know you are my wife, but I have no memories of us being together."

"It's okay, Romeo." I smile, my heart filled with love for him. "Is it okay if I hold your hand?"

He reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. He lets me kiss him. This is beautiful, and it is enough for now.