After the sitter left yesterday, I walked over to Kate and sat down on the ottoman in front of her chair. Here is a portion of our conversation.
RICHARD: I’m glad to see you. I like being with you.
KATE: I like being with you.
RICHARD: I love you.
KATE: I love you too.
She leaned over and kissed me.
KATE: What’s your name?
RICHARD: Richard Lee Creighton
KATE: What’s my name?
This conversation is something else I never expected when we learned of Kate’s diagnosis. Had I known at the time, I would have been sad just thinking about it. Now I am living with it every day, but I find that I am not sad. How could that be? I’m not entirely sure. I think that is largely because her changes have been so gradual. That has given me time to adapt to each change. That doesn’t mean I meet each change without any sadness. The first few times I see signs of change, I do feel sad. So far that has been followed by the discovery that we still are able to enjoy ourselves. I know that will not always be the case. From the beginning we both understood how this is likely to end. I don’t mean specifically of course, but we know from experience how it usually unfolds. I am especially mindful of that right now as she slowly drifts away. I find myself experiencing a strange mixture of sadness and joy. Fortunately, our good times still outweigh the sad ones. We will hold on to these as long as we can.
