Special Moments

When you're dealing with a serious disease, there are times when its difficult to paint a positive spin on the situation. Throughout this process, I've tried to do just that and look for the good. Without fail, there is always good, always blessings, always happiness. Sometimes its just harder to find.

In early June, I went home for two weeks to be with Mike so my mom could go out to Calgary to see Jessica and her new baby boy, Cormac, after his birth. I have to admit I was a little bit nervous but not nearly as nervous as my mom seemed to be. I think she must have gone over the lists of things I needed to do and remember about 8 times. Her and Mike picked me up from the bus station and we drove straight to the airport to send her off to Calgary, and there we were, alone together.

Over the next two weeks, we walked together, we went on long car rides around the county together, we watched a lot of Treehouse (never again!) and generally just spent a lot of time hanging out. We danced, we laughed, we tossed and kicked a soccer ball back and forth. That was one of my favourite things. We would toss the ball and every time he caught it, he'd smile or laugh, once or twice he would say something about how he was the best!

Just chilling

 I learned that if he didn't want to go somewhere, I could take him by the hand and lead him to where he needed to be. He got so used to this that when we went on walks, he'd walk slightly ahead and put his hand back waiting for me to come and take it.
Occasionally, personal support workers would come in to help me out. Mike reacted differently with all of them. One day, when he was in an especially good mood and the support worker took him by the hand to lead him upstairs, Mike exclaimed, "Oh you'd like to dance!" He then proceeded to chime out some tune "Doo doo doooo do doo" and dance the two step, twirling her around. :)

There were some tough parts but they're not really worth mentioning too much. One that especially stuck out to me though happened one night as I was trying to get him to go to sleep. Normally, after getting his pajamas on and opening up his bed sheets, I could, eventually, get Mike to sit down on the bed and then pull his legs up on to the bed so that he'd eventually go to sleep (if he decided he'd like to stay in bed, otherwise the process was repeated again and again).  One night, however, I asked him as usual, "Mike are you tired?" and he responded that yes he was, but he just stood there with his front arms leaning on the bed not doing anything else. To no avail could I convince him to get into bed, when I realized that he had forgotten how to get into bed. He'd forgotten he needed to shift around and sit down first. I stood beside him and slowly step by step, showed him how to bend over and sit down on to the bed. Once he saw how, he got into bed and went to sleep.
Even thinking about it now, makes me tear up. He forgot how to sit down into his bed. But.. I was there.. I was there to show him.
Our roles have completely switched and I became what he always was to me.

As his memory fades, its as if the light in his eyes has slowly faded. When he looks at you and doesn't know quite who you are, you can see the fogginess there. You can see the dimness.
There are moments though, special unforgettable moments, when he sees you. For a brief second, he looks at you.. AT you in the eyes and He SEES you. You live for those moments.