First I got a text and an email from John, thanking me for celebrating his birthday with him. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be that big a deal. After all, we've been doing birthdays together since the 1980s. Plus this year was especially low key. All we did have drinks at his favorite bar. The Cubs were playing the Yankees and I really wanted to see the game and John wanted to show me off to his tavern buddies. (He feels my knowledge of baseball is unexpected and impressive.) While the birthday gifts were carefully chosen -- a pin from the TCM Film Festival, a magnet from my trip to Springfield last year, and a bawdy mug and equally NSFW bar napkins from Tampa -- they were certainly not expensive.
But he and I have been somehow "off" all summer. He's been grumpy and finds me especially annoying at times. It's bothered me and, I sense, he felt the same way because he seemed so happy that we're happy together again. We've been friends for 40+ years, and it's such a comfort to know we're still us.
But then I stumbled upon a quote from Jose Marti, and my heart broke. I only know Jose Marti because of my dear friend Henry. We saw his statue in Key West's Bayview Park one day and Henry told me Marti was a Cuban poet, revolutionary and hero during the Ten Years War.
Henry was so well educated and so intrigued by Key West's rich and colorful past. But now he has the mind of a child -- the cumulative effects of alcohol, traumatic brain injury and dementia -- and he and his husband, Reg, are leaving Key West forever this week because if they didn't sell the house, they would lose it to the bank. I fear that Henry will fade further into his own world when the ballasts of his life in Key West -- his friends, his church, the familiar surroundings -- are gone.
I try not to be angry, but it's a losing fight. I miss Henry so much, and I can't shake the suspicion that if Reg had not been so fucking stubborn and gotten real help for Henry earlier, we wouldn't be here now.
But that doesn't really matter, does it? We are where we are and it is what it is. Henry is receding from me and at an alarming pace. I must accept it.
As light as being good with John feels, that's how dark that Marti passage made me feel.
It's great that you and John seem to be mending your friendship, but so very sad about Henry.
ReplyDeleteAfter a certain point dementia is harder for the family and friends than it is for the one who has it. Reaching that point is actually a blessing of sorts for the one who has it. Allow yourself to grieve. You have lost the friend you knew.
ReplyDeleteThe "should'ves" do us in every time. Reg should've done xyz, but he didn't, unfortunately. The thing is, I suspect Reg was doing the best he could with what he had to deal with. When you're outside looking in, it's easy to see the proper steps, but when you're inside that bubble, you're stuck. It's hard to do, but I hope you can find it in you to consider forgiving Reg his mistakes with Henry. It might take a long time - you may never forgive him - but I hope you can consider it. (I am, of course, speaking from experience, and this is very hard advice to take - and to give, actually.)
ReplyDeleteOh, Gal. I'm sorry Henry is slipping away. I'm glad you and John are vibing well again.
ReplyDelete