"...Then the Lord God said, 'It is not good for man to be alone...." Genesis 2:18
"...and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me, and the life I which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God...." Galatians 2:20
"...and I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus..." Phil 1:6
"perfect (v): To finish or complete, so as to leave nothing wanting; to give to anything all that is requisite to its nature and kind." Noah Webster's New International Dictionary of English Language
"Get me two more napkins so we will have a complete set.", Karen would say soon after beginning a meal. Almost without exception, moments after she would start eating, I would see her staring at the napkin holder in the center of the table. It was invariably full, for obvious reasons: she would obsessively count each napkin in the holder, and if it did not have the exact even number that would allow two napkins per meal for three meals per day for six days (that's all it will hold), she would stop eating and have me get the appropriate replacements so that the meal could continue. Early on, I had tried to get her to see that as long as there were enough in there for at least one more meal, we were covered, but to no avail. Every time we sat down to eat, we would use one napkin each, and the redundant replacement ritual would then ensue.
"Ritualistic and stereotyped behaviors" they are called, these somewhat obsessive, repetitive and often meaningless actions that will on occasion dominate the thought and activity of a person with brain disease. It is a paradox that my wife, who could not remember what we had done five minutes before, would be trapped by a memory of the way something "should" appear or "has always been", and repetitively be driven to right the perceived wrong if the one thing were out of place or out of count. There have been many, many other "rules" that I learned to follow over the years, making sure that certain things were in certain places at certain times, in hopes of avoiding the ire or anxiety that could follow should something not be as it should. One should not break the rules.
We are now in week three of Karen staying (mostly) at Sarah's Place, the memory care residential center where we had initially sought respite placement; circumstances out of our control, coupled with my own exhaustion as caregiver, led to the decision to allow her to stay there more regularly. Originally my hope had been that I would have her home for several days each week, certainly over weekends when I would not be working, and I made great effort to duplicate the same types and appearances of cosmetics, jewelry boxes, toothpaste, etc. etc. (see above: one should not break the rules) so that transition back and forth would be minimally disruptive, but this quickly proved to be a poor concept. By the time we would drive from Sarah's Place to our condo (about a fifteen minute trip) she would have forgotten that she had ever been there at all, so each transition was a new experience. The staff suggested that I decrease the overnight stays, so now our time together is mostly when I take her out to eat (shrimp, of course) or pick her up for church. When I just stop by to visit, she is pleasant but rather distant. Not one time has she ever said to me (or to the staff) that she wants to come home. It appears that this separation is our new normal.
Thus, my time at home is now spent alone. As an only child, I have not only been historically comfortable in solitude but truly in need of a certain amount of it for good mental health, so I had not anticipated any major readjustment. I still have work and family nearby; connection with others is now even more accessible as I don't have to be concerned about how Karen would fare if she were to go with me or how I could arrange for her to have care if I needed to go somewhere alone.
But, I have found I am no longer a complete set. Even with ample opportunities to be in communication with others, and now more time to feed my previously voracious appetite for random schedule and multitasking, things are not right. Perhaps some of this is simply that I am out of practice; I have not lived alone for more than one year in the past 45, that year interposed between first and second marriages, now almost 31 years ago, so in spite of my solitary upbringing, this is a relatively new experience. But there is more to it than that: I cannot go backward and be comfortable in not having Karen here, even if the Karen that I knew and with whom I had planned to spend forever, left the building some years ago. "The two shall become one" has its reality in day-to-day mundane activities: the need to maintain a rather rigid schedule to keep pace with Karen's obsessive rituals was also providing me a structure for maintaining my own life. Now that I should be able to let the napkin holder approach empty without anxiety I find that if I don't keep it full I get distracted by other activities, put off dealing with it, and risk finding there are no napkins in the holder at all. Karen's idiosyncrasies have become mine, by the osmosis of oneness. There is something in all of us, it appears, that is permanently changed when we enter intimate relationship with another. The two are now defined by the one.
So what is God teaching me in all of this? My pursuit of nearness to Him has been erratic, as having any sense of completeness from marriage, work, personal effort, or accomplishment would often diminish the hunger for the more perfect union. But I now find that this new "freedom to be me" is vaporous; not only does it not fulfill, it frustrates; when one has entered relationship with the Savior, one is permanently changed and nothing else will satisfy. I can't be comfortable in going back to the person I had been, regardless of still-powerful urges to do so. While I probably could have taught this principle to a class, it is only in my current life situation that it has become real to me. And I know that it isn't about me this time; "me" could not have done this. This is all Him, all about His faithfulness, all about His promise to never leave us.
In spite of her rituals and the other debris of dementia that have caused us to be separate in location, Karen and I are still one, in ways that I had not expected to experience. And I am finding that in spite of my own sin-self-stereotyped behaviors and desires, something of great grace is happening: there is growing evidence that Someone else resides herein, and that my future is secure; I will be complete. I remain imperfect but hopeful.. Soli Deo Gloria.
As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts...
Barney
barneydavis@gmail.com or on FB
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