The Silent Visitors
I get it! My life is no longer fascinating in the usual sense of the word. I remember when it was! Hubby and I on missions to Ethiopia, the Soviet Union, and China, taking on risks that now shock even me. Entering communist countries under vicious dictators is best left to the young who do not understand the danger. I do recall when we arrived in Ethiopia after the first airlift of the endangered Jewish villagers, to Israel, being told by the defunct American Embassy staff: “Don’t anger the authorities. If they arrest you, there will be nothing we can do.” And the Pilot, flying us to Ethiopia, who asked: “You do realize you are entering a war zone?” Oops…
There was much more excitement awaiting under the KGB and the Chinese version of the same. Perhaps one day I will write about it all.
It is because our lives together, Hubby’s and mine, were so incredibly rich with opportunity, challenges and fulfillment that I can sit at my computer and pour out my new reality, which is quite the opposite.
When friends with whom I meet on Zoom every Thursday share their thoughts about the possibility of a “plus side” of caring for a loved one with Dementia, the reactions of course vary, depending on the quality of the relationship prior to the present decline. But for most, when they reflect on the question, they find themselves thinking only of the good times they shared: creating a family, travel, friends, conversations, building careers, the joy of a birth or an accomplishment. Even the sad times can be bittersweet when we look back. It is what keeps the caregiving spouse from drowning in their new reality.
Last night Hubby, fell asleep by 10 PM. I retreated to my own room, finding sundry things to keep me busy. I fell asleep about 11:30. At 12:45 AM, I sensed someone in the room. Hubby was facing the bedroom door to our back terrace, jiggling the door handle.
What are you doing? I inquire, opening one eye slowly.
“I am making sure all the doors are locked. I can hear someone outside.”
“They are all locked. Do not open them. There is no one outside.” I fill in the blanks for him. Hubby sits on the foot of my bed. This is not a good sign. He is getting comfortable and wants to chat.
“What are we going to do about the three thousand?” He asks?
I respond that I have no clue what he is talking about and he gets adamant.
“This is serious!” He proclaims. “We have to discuss it!”
No-we don’t! Get out of my room! I am sleeping – Leave!
For the first time, I became a little dictator. This is not a normal reaction from me, but after nights of trying other responses, I am devoid of maturity. Hubby left. I have no clue what he did then, but the lights in the house were turned off so I presumed he went back to sleep. Apparently, he did – until 4:45 AM, when he came to visit me again, proclaiming that there were people in our living room. Then, with no options, I got up to look, knowing without a doubt, that nothing/no one, would be there.
Hubby was hallucinating. Many of the spouses on my Zoom meetings have had the same experiences. Our mates see people that are not there. Last night Hubby saw a seven-month-old baby standing on our sofa. He thought it was cute and said that he had talked to it, but that it did not answer. (Hardly surprising!) None of the beings that he sees during his hallucinations, actually speak. I find this extremely interesting. He finds it distressing. He said he did not understand why they were all mute. I put him back to bed and tucked-him-in, but he was still in his own reality. He continued calling out to the individuals who were not there, and was upset when they did not respond. He asked me questions about them. Probably the hardest questions to answer are these. What can one say that makes even a modicum of sense? Especially at five A.M.
I sat with Hubby in the dark as he chattered for about an hour. Finally, he began to calm down and at 6 A.M. I asked if he would mind if I returned to bed as I was exhausted. He said “Of course. Get a good night’s sleep.”
Just this week I read a lengthy article on near-death experiences. I had a very dear friend who was quite ill and had almost died a few times before her final passing. She confided in me and told me not to worry, that there is an afterlife. She had seen it. People had come to her in the past when she thought it was “her time,” but they told her it wasn’t. She was told to wait. This was a woman I loved and respected. I was glad that she had this certainty as it brought her peace in the final weeks of her illness. But what started to dawn on me last night, was the similarity between the intermittent hallucinations of Dementia patients and the visions reported from people who come very close to death, and yet survive. It seems as though the chemistry of the brain may be at the core of it all. Both individuals really do see the people when we do not. They believe it because they experience it in their brains. There is a mysterious link between the two phenomena. The concept of an afterlife is perplexing regardless of one’s inclinations. These experiences further muddle my thoughts.
This morning Hubby came into my room to find a pair of socks. He was in the dark and asked if he could put the lights on. “Sure,” I responded. I pulled the fluffy pink covers over my head to block the glare. He laughed at the sight. When I actually did decide to face the new day, I discovered Hubby fully dressed, with his perky Fedora, and his best shoes.
How is it possible that when Violet and I are awake, he is unable to put on a sweater, his shoes, or his jacket? But when we are sleeping, he is quite capable of it all?
This, along with the people I cannot see, who inhabit our home in the wee hours and refuse to speak gives me much to ponder as my day begins.
