Today Kate has been in a very good humor but continues to display much confusion. That was evident first thing this morning. I always close the door from the back of the house to our family room when I leave the bedroom each morning. That way I don’t have to worry about the radio or my music waking her. I was in the kitchen when I heard her open the door. I looked up to see her poke her head out. Then she turned around and went back to our bedroom. I walked to the bedroom and found that she had walked over to the bathroom door. She always closes it when she leaves. She didn’t walk it. She looked in and turned around and called my name. I said, “Here I am.” She said, “I was worried. I didn’t know where you were.” (By the way, that is usually my line.) I told her I didn’t mean to hide from her, that I was in the kitchen. It struck me that the house is becoming much less familiar that she didn’t know where to look for me. She had probably looked in the other bedrooms and then quickly glanced at the family room without remembering that I am usually in the kitchen until she gets up.
That thought was reinforced when we got home after lunch. She just stopped as we walked into the family room and asked me where she should go. I suggested that she take a few minutes to brush her teeth and then meet me in the family room where we could relax for a while. I led her from the family room and told her she could brush her teeth in our bathroom or the one with the guest room. She chose the latter, a frequent choice.
Once she was settled in her chair, I put on some music I knew she would enjoy and returned a phone call to a friend in New York. It is a little windy today, and she enjoyed looking out the back at the gentle swaying of the trees. When I finished my phone call, I asked if she would like to get out of the house. She did. I suggested we go to Barnes & Noble.
Before leaving, she went to the back of the house. When she returned, she was carrying a tube of toothpaste, a tooth brush, a magnifying glass, a “snow flake” globe that was a souvenir from Glen Arbor, an old bra, and a small US flag for use as a table decoration. I said, “What do you have there?” She showed me each item and put the tooth brush on the table between our chairs and left it there. Before leaving the family room, she asked (using hand signals) if she should bring a framed picture of her father and another framed picture of our son. I told her I thought we could leave them.
After we had been at Barnes & Noble for a while, she said, “What’s the theme?” I didn’t know what she meant although the only association I had was the weekly theme at Chautauqua, but we’re in Knoxville. A few minutes later, she asked, “What day is it?” This is not a typical question. I told her it was Saturday. Then she said, “When does it . . .?” She didn’t (couldn’t?) finish the question. Again, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but connected it with Chautauqua. I asked if that was what she meant. She did. I told her it was over for the summer. She said, “Oh” and something else I didn’t understand.
Several times very close together she asked where we are. A few minutes later she said, “That looks familiar.” She was looking at the parking lot in front of B&N. Shortly after that, she looked at several murals with famous writers on the wall and said, “I remember when I took pictures of those. I remember looking up some of these men. They were very distinguished.”
After that, she looked across at me and said, “You aren’t going to leave me, are you?” I told her I would never think of leaving her. I told her I loved her and said, “You know, when we were dating, I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I did then. I was wrong. I love you much more now.” She said the same about me.
Another few minutes passed. She looked a little sad. I told her it looked like something was bothering her. She nodded. I asked if she was worried about the two of us. She said no. I asked if it were our children. She nodded again. Then I told her I didn’t think she needed to be worried about them, that they were getting along well. A few more minutes passed. She still looked like she was thinking about something that bothered her. I said, “Do you remember that old expression ‘A penny for your thoughts?’” She did. Then I said, “I don’t think you want to talk about it right now.” She nodded. I told her I could accept that and let it go.
