(Originally posted in Facebook on February 5, 2019)
Things that are simple have suddenly become not so simple any more. I came home from work yesterday and M told me that he had seen our next door neighbor in her yard as she was picking up sticks. Of course, he couldn’t remember her name and I had to supply it for him. But instantly, I was on high alert.
Had she noticed anything different about him? Had he had one of his “episodes” while they were talking, which would have caused her to have some concerns? I don’t want to ask either one of them, but . . . We’ve known these neighbors forever – he was my high school English teacher! They’re only eight years older than we are, although when I was in high school he seemed 100 years older. Do I say anything? Let it go? Eventually, something is going to have to be said. But when? These are the things no one tells you about.
M called his brothers over the weekend to tell them about his diagnosis. He is the youngest of four boys and we were interested to see if any of them were having any issues like he’s been having. I had written down “early onset dementia” for him, so he would be sure to say it correctly when he was talking to them, and he had the phone on speaker so I could help answer any questions.
I wish you could have heard him.
He gave them no preamble or lead in . . . just jumped right in with “hi, I called to tell you I have early onset dementia.” If it hadn’t been so sad, it would have been funny. They were all shocked, and we found out none of them have any symptoms like M has been having.
The oldest brother, we’ll call him brother #1M, was married (and later divorced) to a woman who also had early onset dementia and was diagnosed at about the same age. She was 8 – 10 years older than we are and has since passed away. I remembered about my former sister-in-law and wondered if living and growing up in the same area of NJ as my husband had anything to do with it. But how do you prove it? And how do you explain that his brothers all seem to be fine?
I think I’m grasping at straws.
When I opened the dishwasher this morning, it looked as though everything on the bottom rack had been put in there by blind squirrels. Even two months ago, M understood the necessary placement for plates and bowls for them to be washed. Now, it seems he just opens the dishwasher and wherever the plate will fit is where it goes. Even last week, I would have called him in there and pointed out what he had done and asked him what he was doing and then shown him the “right” way to do it. “Let it go” has become my new theme song. I just rearranged everything the way I wanted it without saying a word.
What would have been the point? It would have only frustrated both of us.