DEMENTIA – What Will I Remember?

Becoming the Virtuous Woman

It’s almost haunting, the vacancy I’ve come to recognize in her eyes.

I’m in the room with her, but she’s not in the room with me.  Every Thursday it’s the same: the same place, nearly the same time, no real surprises on my part, and yet, I never know what to expect from her.

First come the vain necessities, “Hello, again. How are you? Remember me? I’m here to check on you.  I’m your nurse practitioner.”

Her eyes flicker in my direction at the sound of my voice, but her focus is elsewhere, far away from here.  Sometimes she tells me where she is, sometimes I just wonder.  Today, she is at home.  Supper is on the stove, and she’s watching the door for her husband, long since dead, to come home.  She looks right through me to a screen door that hasn’t been opened in more than fifty years…

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