The note on the white board on our kitchen table says: “9 pm – Tammy and Marko arrive.”
The monthly calendar on our cellar door says: “Marko and Tammy” on the Monday, October 4, block.
The little daily calendar on the clipboard says the same thing.
I call home on my way from class at 8:50 and ask Boris if our guests have arrived. “Who’s coming?” he asks. I explain and say, “I guess the bad weather will make them come later.” He agrees.
Ten minutes later I arrive at the house and he doesn’t know that we’re getting guests. “Who’s coming?” he calls up the steps. I tell him and he seems surprised. Then I go into the kitchen and find the message that he wrote by the phone perhaps an hour ago: “Tonight – Marko 10 pm.”
And so his regression continues. I see it in so many little repetitions daily, in the things he isn’t sure how to do, in the pattern of his naps, his tasks.
And I am sad.
In a way, he is becoming more boyish, asking my permission to do things. “Can I cut this pie?” “Is it OK if I take my shower now?” “Which way do you want me to drive to …?” “Should I mow the grass?” “Which trash cans do the leaves go in?”
But as soon as I think this, he does something which is the “real” Boris. Makes a decision, fixes something, stands firm on an opinion. I am living with a couple of people and it’s up to me to simply glide along with them.
I remind myself that this is the best it will ever be, and I’m so lucky to still have some of my Boris today.