We had an open and frank discussion about me, my death, if it was okay to date, how I died or was no longer here, Capgras Syndrome, how it was that her mom died, and other topics. I explained “impostor syndrome” and that I was not dead. it took a lot for me to not openly cry as I began to understand her terror at not knowing what was going on around her.
We talked about our love for one another. I told her I would never leave her alone or as best I could not let her miss anything important. We talked about memory and how scary it is to not know what is next.
She was anxious about being home but not thinking she was home. In the midst of that our upstairs neighbor, Joe, bought me a couple cans of beer. A couple days ago we were discussing an article in a local magazine about the best microbreweries in the area. He had found some of the stuff that won.
Cheryl added Joe into the discussion about how she and he were working on the same project at the house. We went around and talked about going home and Joe had brought her home last night. I said that when she woke up she was home? Even though when she went to bed last night she was not home? Yes she said.
I explained to her once again that we were home even though she was unsure that we were home. (Another nuance of Parkinson dementia). Capgras can occur with things and places also. In Cheryl’s case it happens with time.
She knew she was home now.
She seemed calmer afterward. It wore her out and she went to bed early and was okay with me helping her to bed.
Carpe Capgras Diem. (but what a miserable fucking disease.) (sorry)