"...a truly long, long goodbye"

When I finished Louise Penny's A Great Reckoning, I glanced at the acknowledgments, and after the second sentence—“Michael has dementia”—I went on to read the entire two-plus pages. Almost everything on those pages referred to her husband Michael's care.

This information rattled around in my brain for a week or so, and today I decided to find out more. By the time I had typed “Louise Penn” into the Google search box, Google offered “Louise Penny husband” as a choice. An

AARP essay Penny written shortly before Michael Whitehead's death (September 2016) was the most complete source. She seemed to use writing to make sense of the situation. Below is a small excerpt of her reflections.

And I learned that, far from having my day, my happiness, decided by how Michael was doing, I needed to make it about how I was doing.... I'd been desperately trying to keep our lives normal. But there was a new normal, and it changed every day. If I didn't change with it, that was my fault. Not Michael's'

I, and I imagine many others, find dementia the most dreaded way to end our lives. Last Saturday I attended a memorial service for a woman in my community who also died after a period of dementia. It felt like she had disappeared into a “memory care unit.” The service was a surprising comfort and celebration. It made the idea of dementia a little less scary, I loved learning that one of her former music students visited her regularly and sang to her. Like Louise Penny her care givers seemed loving and patient. The patient often seemed content.

I think I hoped in writing this, that I would come to terms with this demon. I have not, and it feels like a hodge-podge of thoughts. I'll end with a thought from Penny:

I'm grateful that his dementia did not make him angry or abusive. I'm grateful that I love him so much. Looking after someone with dementia whom you don't like would be hell. And I'm grateful that I'm losing him this way. Slowly.

The picture of Penny and Whitehead from the AARP essay

Article title from Nancy Reagan