Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I went for a walk in the neighborhood last night and paid witness to the tulips and periwinkles. He was sitting in his chair watching television when I left. Our new live-in helper was with him. They had just turned on 60 minutes when I walked out the door. This was the first time in I-don't-know-how-long that I was able to go for a fast-paced walk by myself after dinner, and at first I thought the world had changed. But when I came home an hour later and saw him sitting in that same spot, with the same affect, I felt the old familiar sadness return, the same sadness I felt a few hours earlier when I was taking his blood pressure and realized that he no longer understood the meaning of the numbers I was reading. When I got him to bed I thought I would work at my writing but my mind will not go there. It is in bed with him wondering what language Alzheimer victims dream in.
Posted by Esther Altshul Helfgott at 7:47 AM
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
There is a lot of grief here and you express it beautifully.
Interesting how I don't think about how I express myself in writing anymore. Just coming out this way. Thanks Barbara.
Post a Comment