I hate dementia

I had a busy day today, however I made time to visit Murray in his nursing home.  I have known Murray for many years, but we have not been close. We were in the Rover Scouts some fifty six years ago.

We, the surviving members of that group, have occasional get-togethers and unfortunately Murray is no longer able to attend those infrequent gatherings. He has dementia and doesn’t know who he is or who I was today.   The nursing home he is in is a very nice place with caring staff.  When I visited him today, he didn’t recognise me or what I was saying.  He made many attempts at starting a conversation, but couldn’t get past the first few words.  His companions were all in special chairs and not watching the large screen television they were arranged in front of.  Next to Murray was a woman in her eighties nursing a celuloid doll.  She kept talking to Murray in what was probably the Croation language and he looked earnestly at her as if understanding what she was saying.

I have experienced similar before with a couple of close friends and I hate it.   

Murray looks fit and quite young.  Dementia has stolen his very being.

My dear wife Joan died almost three years ago with all her faculties intact. I have wondered if dementia might have spared her the knowledge of what was happening to her.  I am glad that she knew we were with her at the end.