Nothing In Dementiaville

Romeo, sitting in his wheelchair in a deserted conference room we claimed for ourselves, raised his head, looked out the window, thinking he was looking at me, and said, "I'm not here very much."

"Not here, in this room very much?"

"No. I mean that my mind isn't here very much. It's somewhere else."

"Oh. Yes, I know that."

"You do?"

"Do you know where your mind is?"

"No."

"Okay. When your mind isn't here, what's it like?"

He continued to gaze out the window, and as his facial expressions changed, I realized he still believed he was looking at me, engaging me. I do not correct him. To keep his thoughts on topic, I don't ask him to turn his head the other way so he's actually looking at me. He thinks he is, so I let him be and gently continue.

"Romeo, do you see anything when your mind isn't here?"

"No, nothing."

"When your mind isn't here, are you aware of your body?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel sensations in your body?"

"No. It's just there."

"And what do you see?"

"Nothing."

"And when your mind isn't here, what emotions do you experience?"

"None."

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

"Do you suffer, are you in pain?"

"No."

"Are you happy?"

"No. I'm nothing. I just am."

"Is it a pleasant place to be, just being?"

"It just is."

And that was all Romeo had to say about what it's like for him in Dementiaville. On my end, I am relieved to know that he isn't suffering. And I know now that I can relax and there is no need to worry when his mind isn't here. He's okay and everything is as it should be.