Love Means Having to Say You’re Sorry

Hospice ordered us a hospital bed and a child-sized wheelchair.  When ordering these, I heard the nurse say, “Late-stage Dementia.”   That’s fine—it was Effie’s doctor’s assessment, and (for what it’s worth) it coincides with what I’ve matched up on the Web.

= – = – =

1st Old Lady: Sometimes I have a jar of mayonnaise in my hand at the fridge, and I can’t remember whether I need to put it away, or start making a sandwich.

2nd: Yes, sometimes I’m at the stairs and can’t remember whether I was going up or down.

3rd:  Well, Ladies, I’m glad I don’t have that problem, Knock on wood.  …That must be the door, I’ll get it.

= – = – =

By the way, that joke would be “early stage.”  …You know that person in your life that’s locked in Ali MacGraw mode?  (1970: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”)  They pull unfathomable shenanigans, but it’s swept under the rug; ‘next time you see them, they act like nothing happened.  Brother.  Well, that’s how it is every day with a “late-stage-er.”

This reminds me of an adorable thing my youngest used to say when she was a tiny tot.  Dad would tell her, “Say you’re sorry.”  She’d reply, “You’re sorry.”

= – = – =

Knock Knock.

Who’s there?

Giuseppe!

Giuseppe who?

Giuseppe my apology?

= – = – =

This last week she’s slapped, slugged, spit, scowled, and sworn; she’s yelled, yipped, yammered, and yanked; she’s howled, hassled, and hated.  But at the turn of a minute, she’s all cute again.  Look up bipolar, and her itty-bitty picture will be there.

= – = – =

Instead of a sign that says, “Do Not Disturb,” she needs one that says, “Already Disturbed; Proceed with Caution.”

Of course I’m not looking for apologies from Effie (no more than she’s looking for one from me, HaHa).  But it sure is showing me how revolting a person is that does not own what the need to own.  Please forgive me, anybody out there, for when I have failed in that way!

= – = – =

Three dementia patients are having a memory test.  The doctor asks, “What is three times three?”

1st Man: 274.

2nd: Tuesday.

3rd: Nine.

Wow! Surprised, the doctor asks how he got the answer:

“Simple.  Just subtract 274 from Tuesday.”

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2 Responses to Love Means Having to Say You’re Sorry

  1. Tamz says:

    Sitting here giggling. Thanks for keeping your wonderful sense of humor through all this. What a roller coaster our emotions can put us on, eh? From Bleh! to Wheeee! in 60 seconds.

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