Early on, right after Gail was diagnosed, she asked me that question all the time. When did you first notice? When did you first see that I was having trouble?
If you are caring for someone with dementia, you will get asked this. Your Tended (the person you are caring for) will want to know, and a logical answer does not always land well. I gave logical answers for a long time.
Gail organized our vitamins and medications. We would line up four of the seven-day pill boxes on the counter and fill every slot, once a month. She was good at it. She was good at all of it. Then one day she told me she could not do it anymore, and I said no problem, I will take care of it. I did not think anything of it at the time. Years later, looking back, that looked like the first sign. So that is what I told her.
It did not satisfy her. She said it had gotten to be a hassle, that was all. And she was not wrong. When it happened, it was something she decided.
It took me a long time to understand what Gail was really asking. She was not asking about 1999. She was asking about that morning. Am I being treated differently, and how long has that been going on? That is a question about right now, and I kept answering it with history.
Underneath it sat a bigger question. Do you still love the woman I was, and do you love the woman I am?
Years ago I wrote a piece called The Snowflake That Caused the Avalanche. No single flake starts it. You can stand on that mountain and watch the whole thing come down and never know which one let go first. That is my honest answer about the first sign. I do not know. Nobody does.
What she wanted was never a date. It was the thing I say to her anyway, most days, without her having to ask.
There is no place I would rather be, and no person I would rather be with, than right here, right now, with you.
If you get asked the question, do not reach for your memory. Reach for your heart.
Gregg
Get a letter like this every Tuesday.
