Better to Travel Hopefully

*** Content Warning: Contains mental health and end of life issues. ***

We left the doctor’s office together. As together as we can be these days. I was fully present, while Nick was in his half-world. He would follow along with the conversation for a while, then go silent, apparently lost in thought. From time to time, he forgets who I am, but we are fortunate – he seems content to follow me around until his mind clears again.

I put his walker in the back of the car and helped him into the passenger seat, then walked around to the driver’s side. I started the car but didn’t put it into gear immediately.

“Do you remember what the doctor said, Nick?”

He sat there, his innocent pale blue eyes staring at me. “I have dementia, Caroline.”

I sighed. Time is a real problem in these conversations. “Yes, you do. But we’ve known that for a while, haven’t we? Do you remember what she told us just now?”

Nick frowned, twisting his fingers together. I’ve noticed he does that in times of distress, so I knew he remembered at least part of the conversation. “You’re not well, are you?”

I reached out and touched his hand, stopping the movement and making him feel my presence. “That’s right. I have cancer, and it’s past the possibility of treatment now.”

I try to keep the concepts clear and simple, without talking down to him like a child. He’s a very smart man, but his mind is just adrift from the here and now.

He put his other hand over mine. “I’m so sorry, love. What can I do to help?”

My smile was fragile as I sucked back my tears. “You can be as wonderful as always, Nick. I know I can depend on you.” I raised our hands to my lips so I could kiss him. We’ve been married for more than forty years. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness…

“But we have to think about what you will do if I die. I can make all the arrangements, but I need you to tell me what you want. You can’t stay in the house if I’m not there to take care of you.”

He sat there in a state of shock. I didn’t push the conversation further. I knew we’d revisit this several times over the next few days, until he understood and was ready to tell me. We moved out of the parking lot heading back towards home.

* * *

Nick didn’t have a good morning. He wasn’t “with me” most of the time. I felt guilty – this was probably because some part of his failing brain was trying to deal with the news of my cancer. After lunch, he seemed to cheer up, so I started another conversation.

“You haven’t seen any of your old friends for a while. Should we invite someone over next weekend?”

He looked puzzled. After a few minutes hemming and hawing, he said “It’s funny, I don’t really miss anyone. We have such a good time together. I’m just happy to talk to your friends when they come over. Why don’t you invite Talia over? Maybe her husband too, and we could have a game of cards.”

He can still play some card games on a good day. On a bad day, he gets confused and upset, so we don’t do it often. But I didn’t invite Talia over. Good to know that he does enjoy some social contact though.

* * *

The next evening, I made him meatloaf and cut it up on the plate for him. He has returned to his childhood preferences now, so mealtimes are like they were when we had a child in the house. I still mourn the loss of Alex a year ago, but I’m not sure he even remembers that she existed. Ironically, Alex also had cancer – brain cancer in her case. I have to wonder how much our genes control our cause of death.

As he ate his dinner, I raised the subject again. “Nick, if I went away for a while, where would you want to stay? You could go into a nursing home for a while. Would you be comfortable with that?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Where are you going, Caroline? For how long?”

I swallowed hard. “I have to have an operation, Nick. You remember the doctor telling us I’m sick?” I waited for him to think, and he nodded slowly. Maybe he remembered; maybe he was humoring me.

“Well, I am going to have an operation, then I’ll have to recover for a few days. I won’t be able to cook or clean or shop. So you’ll need to be with someone who can take care of you.”

I waited again. Did he know what I was really asking? Probably not, at least not in full. He was twisting his fingers again. His voice was unsteady as he said, “Can’t I come with you?”

I reached out and hugged him to me. “Not this time, love. We need you to be somewhere safe. A nursing home would take care of you.”

He started shaking his head. “We can’t afford that. Could I stay with Alex for a few days until you can join us? I want to be with family.”

A vacuum formed in my chest. He did remember Alex, but not her death. He wanted to be with family, and right now, I was all that was left. I couldn’t bear seeing him this upset. I kissed his forehead. “That’s OK, Nick. I understand. We don’t need to think about it right now. Would you like some apple pie and ice cream for dessert?”

He shook his head fretfully. “No, I don’t want dessert. I think I’ll just go to bed now.”

* * *

The next few days, I kept busy winding up my affairs, making sure that everything was in order for my lawyer. We have no family left, so the lawyer and the bank will have to take care of things when I’ve gone. Technically, my estate passes to Nick, but he is in no condition to handle it. I’ve instructed my lawyer that the funds are to go to putting Nick into a nursing home for the rest of his life.

But I know that isn’t the answer. He can’t bear to live without me, and I can’t die knowing that he is in distress.

This morning, I packed a suitcase for the two of us and told Nick we are going for a few days away. I’ve booked a room in a B&B that we have visited before. He is excited; we haven’t gone on a trip in many months now. I gave him some of his pills to keep him calm and dozing as we set off down the road.

“We’ll go up into the mountains like we did for our honeymoon. Do you remember that?”

He smiles as he remembers. “We hiked through the forests. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

Relaxing, I put my hand to his face as I tell him, “I still can’t keep my hands off you. But we won’t be able to hike. We can enjoy the views though.”

He turns to look at me, and I remember everything – our first meeting, our courtship, the day he proposed to me, our wedding day, that honeymoon, Alex’s birth, and the decades of joy before the recent health crises that have defined our lives. Nick will not be going into a nursing home. He will be coming with me after all. I know the road through the mountains like the back of my hand, and I have chosen the point at which I will speed up to drive off the road and into the mountainside.