“Should I shower?”

Tonight, with my loved one sitting tightly at my side on the sofa, we watched HBO’s “The Night Of” episode one in a series.  I cringe seeing blood even when it’s on television. The actors roles are lonely young people, stoned and drinking Tequila while playing a game with a 5″ chef’s knife.  I am riveted to the screen and when something bad happens, I shrink into the softness and protection of the sofa cushions.  My loved one, says “Should I shower?”

Dementia has stolen the pleasure he used to have watching the screen.  He sees figures talking and moving but cannot figure out what is going on, being said even when I pause the action and try to explain.  Words have no meaning,  no story line, no fantasy, no fiction.   There is only present time without reflection or commentary going on in his head. He is motivated, driven by focusing on what to do next.  A shower cannot be delayed when he has determined that he is no longer content to be with me holding my hand.  Cuddle time always ends suddenly, surprised by his abrupt departure. I’m going to shower he tells me.