Another three months have passed in Debbie’s long goodbye journey. She has declined a little more, each decline a subtle milestone, but still she is able to join me for dinner every day.
Recently, we met another couple here at Edgewater who are walking a path very much like ours. Sally is in memory care, and her husband John lives in independent living on campus. The four of us have begun to gather for dinner each evening. John and I often find ourselves lost in conversation, swapping stories from our varied life experiences and mulling over the latest news. There’s comfort in this camaraderie, and it’s nice to see how content Debbie and Sally are having us by their side and sharing the warmth at the table.
Debbie’s world continues to shrink. She shows little interest in stepping outside, so we’ve adapted, taking short walks together inside the Edgewater complex. These loops become our shared moments that we both enjoy without many words being said. She is happiest when she is not required to use verbal communication. Holding her hand as we walk is all she requires. There are times when anxiety clouds her face, but the storm always passes. I am still confident that she receives the best care and support possible on her journey
Of course, I am on a journey too. The role of caretaker is demanding and, most evenings, I find myself utterly spent. After all, I am 73 years old and should be entitled to being tired! Adjusting to living alone has been a new and sometimes lonely challenge. I’ve never truly been on my own before. To adapt, I’ve built small routines. Each morning, I make my bed (my mom would so proud), go through some stretches and lifts, and then take time to prepare a good breakfast before heading off to work. These simple acts bring a sense of order and control in a world that so often feels unpredictable.
My new house, just across the street from Edgewater, is starting to feel like home. The old house has been sold. I didn’t realize how much stress I was carrying until the sale was finally complete and the burden lifted. As I closed the door for the last time, a wave of bittersweet relief washed over me. I was grateful for closure, yet nostalgic for all the memories we made there over 25 years. There were hundreds of times we celebrated holidays, birthdays, graduations, engagements, or the announce of a pregnancy with family and friends. I lingered on the front porch letting the past and present settle around me.
In search of comfort and distraction during quiet evenings, I recently turned to documentaries. I just finished watching Country Music, a film by Ken Burns. It was a journey, sixteen hours long across eight DVDs. I can’t recommend it enough. Among the many songs and stories woven through the film and one reached straight into my heart. It was the story behind “Where Have You Been.” The song, inspired by a couple married for decades, tells of a woman who, lost to Alzheimer’s, forgets everyone—except, in a fleeting moment of clarity, her husband. When he visits, she asks him, “Where have you been?”—a simple question filled with profound meaning and memory.
I was speechless as I listened to Kathy Mattea’s haunting rendition of the song. The words echoed my own experience. Debbie, too, sometimes greets me with “Where’ve you been.” In those moments, I know she still recognizes me! I am still somewhere in the fabric of her memories, however faded the rest may be. Here is a link to the song on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v='pv1nTsxNWJ4
As I navigate these days I hold on to these small moments of connection and hope. Each day is a lesson in patience, resilience, and gratitude. I appreciate your support and your prayers.
Upward and onward! Bob