Dreams and Nightmares June 23, 2013

He used to leave me breathless, running behind him, trying to keep up. He didn't mean to. He was absentminded, even then. His mind churning and considering, planning, thinking. Admiring the glories of color and substance on our long walks. Long, intimate conversations, not always about deep thoughts, but always dreaming, planning, sharing. I would complain that he needed to stop whistling and slow down! I would plead with him to notice that I couldn't comfortably keep up and couldn't engage well in our conversations, his long legs and restless energy making a mockery of my efforts. Oh how I wish I could run along behind him again! How I could hear that irritating whistle! Now, he shuffles aimlessly, tiny little three inch steps at a snail's pace. No whistling, no coherent language left. He mostly sits, stooped over, his eyes closed, his seat growing damp with the mindlessness of urine. He gets angry when I try to engage him in activity--this man who loved to walk!! He complains of fatigue if he has shuffled behind me in a grocery store for less than an hour. He gets irritated if I ask him to do anything at all, complaining exactly like he used to when he carried probably more than his fair share of our load.