It cannot be denied that we have become a less caring society,
contracting out the extended care of our increasingly long-lived elderly to the
state; breaking the family bonds so completely that when dementia strikes the
sufferers are often without a friendly face to turn to. Alzheimer’s disease is
a nightmare end feared by many and feared more so by those without company in
their final years. As life expectancy rises and medical research despairs of
finding a cure this is a fate which awaits more of us each year.
Janice was a one-time care home worker and although she
had moved away from her early caring career she was still determined to do her
bit, so when she came across a frail old man, bewildered and weeping on a park
bench she gently took a seat by his side. He looked out across the boating lake
with a vacant expression. Janice examined his sorrowful countenance and took
his hand. He became dimly aware of her presence and half-turned to face her. “Hello
dear” he said, as you might greet a close relative.
Using her gentlest voice and her most concerned
expression Janice dutifully played the part of a favourite niece and listened
to his tale. He explained how he had come out to feed the ducks, indicating the
bag of stale bread on the bench beside him. He liked to come here because this
was the spot where he had met his wife. Janice noted his use of the past tense
and clasped his hand tighter, breathing a soothing murmur of empathy. He
suddenly switched to the present. “Actually” he said “you are about the same
age as her.” Janice took a breath and played along, nodding as he told his
tale.
“Yes, my wife is a lovely woman; half my age and a real
looker. She takes care of herself and she loves to take care of me, too. When I’m
with her we are like newly-weds; we hold hands and kiss all the time. I call her
Pookie and she calls me Dirk and we flirt and flirt and flirt.” He brightens as
he recalls his married life and Janice makes small noises of encouragement; it
is good when they are in a buoyant mood. The old man warms to his theme, a
blush of colour coming again to his cheeks.
“And our sex life is wonderful!” he exclaims and now it
is Janice’s turn to blush. “We have sex most mornings, to work up an appetite
for breakfast. She wears sexy lingerie in bed and stockings during the day. She
likes to give me the occasional flash of stocking-top to keep me going and some
days, if I have the energy, we make love in the afternoon. But always, always,
we fall asleep, exhausted, hot and sweaty in each other’s arms after an
extended bout of thrilling tantric sex.” His smile is wide and Janice is flustered.
But suddenly the old boy’s features droop and the sad face of earlier returns.
He sobs uncontrollably.
Janice knows the drill and hugs him, patting his back and
uttering soothing there-theres. Keep talking, she reminds herself, keep him
engaged. Poor, poor man; try to take him back to those happy memories. She
gently reminds him of all he has just told her, feeling a little embarrassed as
she recounts the detail but knowing she’s doing the right thing. He just sobs
all the more. “You must really miss her after all these years” she says and
with that the old man stops and looks at her.
“She’s not dead!” he exclaims “I’m not completely
doo-lally. I know exactly where I am, it’s 2014 and David Cameron is the prime
minister, we just had the Sochi Winter Olympics, I watched the Farage-Clegg
debate on Wednesday night and I’m very much looking forward to the second
round.” Janice was astonished. “And” he went on, “I do have a hot wife, half my
age and we do make sweet, sweet love every morning and every night!”
Janice drew back and studied his newly animated face; he certainly
seemed to be lucid. “Then why all the sobbing?” she asked. The old man composed
himself, took a breath, looked her in the eye and said “I’ve forgotten where I
bloody live.”
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