A Caregiver Alone At Home

Romeo now requires care 24/7. He won't be coming home. Somehow I knew that 16 days ago when I summoned the paramedics to help get him out of the house, to take him to the hospital. Romeo wouldn't move toward the door. I tried for an hour. He couldn't move for me. His dementia was in high gear, distracting him, walking him in circles.

The paramedics (six of them, I think) stood at the bedside, asking him questions, checking his vitals. As they carried him out of the room, my soul whispered to Romeo's spirit, "Do you know that you are leaving here for good?" I wanted him to notice every detail of this home of ours, this place where we have lived together since we met.

I bought this condo when I was divorced in 2003, intending it to be my swingin' single bachelorette place. Less than two years later, Romeo moved in. We had known each other for several weeks and spent every night but one together. We were married a few months later. We lived here together for a total of four years and eight months. A pittance in calendar time, yet eons in spirit time.

Today I asked Romeo if he remembered anything about home. He said he saw flashes of a room or two. He did not remember our bedroom. I prompted him. "The headboard is against a wall painted smokey purple. The rest of the room is a muted sage green. The bed is metal, antique gray/white, with grapevines hanging from the crosspieces surrounding us overhead."

"Oh, yes." It was coming back to him, but that's all he could remember. No matter. What really matters is that we are still together, still hanging out together, still talking about everything together. Being together, wherever we are, is being home.

Even so, now I am alone at home. Romeo will never be here with me again...never.

And I wonder...will there come a time when Romeo doesn't remember his Juliet? Maybe. And if that day comes, will I truly, really be alone at home? Am I really alone at home now?