Nothing.
I take her in my arms and we hold each other. Nothing.
I feel her tremble and I whisper in her ear. Nothing.
I tell her for the last time this evening that I love her. Andthe thief comes.
It always amazes me how quickly it happens. Even now, after all this time. For as sheholds me, she begins to blink rapidly and shake her head. Then, turning toward the
corner of the room, she stares for a long time, concern etched on her face. No! mymind screams. Not yet! Not now... not when we're so close! Not tonight! Any nightbut tonight.... Please!
The words are inside me.
I can't take it again! It isn't fair.., it isn't fair.... But once again, it is to noavail.
"Those people," she finally says, pointing,
"are staring at me. Please make them stop." The gnomes.
A pit rises in my stomach, hard and full. My breathing stops for a moment, then startsagain, this time shallower. My mouth goes dry, and I feel my heart pounding. It isover, ! know, and I am right. The sundowning has come. This, the evening confusionassociated with Alzheimer's disease that affects my wife, is the hardest part of all.
For when it comes, she is gone, and sometimes I wonder whether she and I will everlove again.
"There's no one there, Allie," I say, trying to fend off the inevitable. She doesn'tbelieve me.
"They're staring at me."
"No," I whisper while shaking my head. "You can't see them?" "No,"
I say, and she thinks for a moment.
"Well, they're right there," she says, pushing me away, "and they're staring at me."
With that, she begins to talk to herself, and moments later, when I try to comforther, she flinches with wide eyes.
"Who are you?" she cries with panic in her voice, her face becoming whiter. "Whatare you doing here?" There is fear growing inside her, and I hurt, for there is nothingI can do. She moves farther from me, backing away, her hands in a defensive position,and then she says the most heartbreaking words of all.
"Go away! Stay away from me!" she screams. She is pushing the gnomes away fromher, terrified, now oblivious of my presence. I stand and cross the room to her bed. Iam weak now, my legs ache, and there is a strange pain in my side. I don't know whereit comes from. It is a struggle to press the button to call the nurses, for my fingers arethrobbing and seem frozen together, but I finally succeed. They will be here soonnow, I know, and I wait for them. While I wait, I stare at my wife.
Twenty...
Thirty seconds pass, and I continue to stare, my eyes missing nothing, rememberingthe moments we just shared together. But in all that time she does not look back,and I am haunted by the visions of her struggling with unseen enemies.
I sit by the bedside with an aching back and start to cry as I pick up the notebook.
Allie does not notice. I understand, for her mind is gone.
A couple of pages fall to the floor, and I bend over to pick them up. I am tired now, soI sit, alone and apart from my wife. And when the nurses come in they see two peoplethey must comfort. A woman shaking in fear from demons in her mind, and the oldman who loves her more deeply than life itself, crying softly in the corner, his face inhis hands.
I spend the rest of the evening alone in my room. My door is partially open and I seepeople walk by, some strangers, some friends, and if I concentrate, I can hear themtalking about families, jobs, and visits to parks. Ordinary conversations, nothingmore, but I find that I envy them and the ease of their communication. Anotherdeadly sin, I know, but sometimes I can't help it.
Dr. Barnwell is here, too, speaking with one of the nurses, and I wonder who is illenough to warrant such a visit at this hour. He works too much, I tell him. Spend thetime with your family, I say, they won't be around forever. But he doesn't listen tome.
He cares for his patients, he says, and must come here when called. He says he has nochoice, but this makes him a man torn by contradiction. He wants to be a doctorcompletely devoted to his patients and a man completely devoted to his family. Hecannot be both, for there aren't enough hours, but he has yet to learn this. I wonder,as his voice fades into the background, which he will choose or whether, sadly, thechoice will be made for him.
I sit by the window in an easy chair and I think about today. It was happy and sad,wonderful and heart‐wrenching. My conflicting emotions keep me silent for manyhours.
I did not read to anyone this evening; I could not, for poetic introspection wouldbring me to tears. In time, the hallways become quiet except for the footfalls ofevening soldiers. At eleven o'clock I hear the familiar sounds that for some reasonI expected. The footsteps I know so well.
Dr. Barnwell peeks in.
"I noticed your light was on. Do you mind if I come in?" "No,"
I say, shaking my head.
He comes in and looks around the room before taking a seat a few feet from me. "Ihear," he says, "you had a good day with Allie." He smiles. He is intrigued by us andthe relationship we have. I do not know if his interest is entirely professional.
"I suppose so."
He cocks his head at my answer and looks at me. "Youokay, Noah? You look a little down."
"I'm fine. Just a little tired.”
"How was Allie today?"
"She was okay. We talked for almost four hours."
"Four hours? Noah, that's.., incredible."
