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.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Esther,
There is a lot of grief here and you express it beautifully.
B.

1:14 PM  
Blogger Esther's Writing Works said...

Interesting how I don't think about how I express myself in writing anymore. Just coming out this way. Thanks Barbara.

1:21 AM  

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