I was tired. So I lay down.
My lids grew heavy. So I slept.
Slender memory, stay with me.
- Li-Young Lee, Mnemonic
After greeting Rob yesterday morning, I realized that he no longer knew who I was. Just 12 hours earlier we were holding hands and singing I Want to Hold Your Hand. And though I know the progression of the disease, the mix of drugs, and of course, the dying process, all contribute to his confusion, words fail me as to how best to tell you what this feels like.
Each day I lose him in ways I don't expect, as does our son.
When words fail there remains touch. One of the startling things I have learned is that Rob recognizes me even though he cannot name me. I'm stored in his brain in lots of ways. He responds to the sound of my voice, the touch of my hands, and certain features that he has always liked (my eyes). For now, I take solace in these ways of connecting.
Earlier this evening, the English Lord, a persona of Rob's that is fairly new showed up. When I asked him if I was just some serving wench, he said in his crusty upperclass British accent, "More or less." My brother Jack and I were there and we both laughed and I leaned down to kiss me lord.
Even in this sorry state we find brief moments of delight.