Sometimes I'm Glad

Kake and Will in Philly, 2015 (last trip)

 Dear Will:

There are times these days when I'm glad your physical body is gone. Like during this now-more-common heat wave. If you were still alive I'd be freaking out and going crazy trying to keep you comfortable.  Now I only need worry about myself.

I wish you were here, though, for the little everyday conversations and comments. I miss the everydayness so much. And then, as I'm missing you, I remember the terrible days of the dementia care. And then when I remember the earliest days of the dementia, it makes me think of the rage of some of my democrat FB friends who support Biden when they are told his brain isn't functioning at its best. I'm afraid to state my personal opinion on FB (I've been seeing the signs of incipient dementia for two years) because it goes against the beliefs of my friends and so many Americans these days don't hold space for opinions different from their own. The last time I made that claim about Biden in front of a friend I got told off in such a way that I was clearly not allowed to have an opinion based on my own difficult personal experience.  This rage is just like YOUR rage when things started falling apart - like the washing machine and the toilet -- because of decisions you were making. You did not want to believe that your brain was dying.  Who would? Those early days of rage, before you semi-accepted that you had dementia, were terrible for both of us. I was walking on eggshells, trying to keep you safe, trying to keep our lives safe. Then, sometime before the pandemic, you became more comfortable with how things were. That was a blessing. Those years in between the first fights and the final failing weren't bad.

And even when you were dying, you were still present. There was a being in the house.  I met with a recently widowed church acquaintance on Wednesday and she said she missed having a presence in her house. Her husband took longer to die than you did and was stuck in his bed for six months before he passed.  You were still hauling yourself up days before you died.

I had a couple of glimmers at yesterday's book club.  One woman said, "you're hard on yourself, aren't you?" She was referencing things I said at the previous meeting. It's good for me to hear this as it reminds me I don't need to judge myself for not being as creative and active as I often think I "should" be. This comment echoed what Sarah said during our zoom meeting on Tuesday.  I was getting down on myself for not being as fully active and functional as I had hoped to me. Sarah echoed back to me what I was saying and once again encouraged me to accept who I seem to be, even if that person considers herself (and, yes, even though I am nonbinary I just fucking refuse to use "they") a "slacker."  So the glimmer was that someone saw me being mean to myself and commented on it.

The other glimmer was that another woman said that she had seen your gravestone.  When I said your name aloud she recognized it and said you were nice looking.  Yes, you were.  Especially for your "graduation" picture. 

Love you and miss you.

Kake