We had a dinner party for nine tonight. Bo came downstairs from his nap well-dressed and looking good when they arrived. He was jovial and pleasant, as always. A good host.
He ate a good meal and enjoyed the desserts. Didn’t really participate in the conversation, but our friends attempted to include him and he seemed comfortable. I could almost pretend that the man at the other end of the dining table was the real Boris.
Towards the end of the meal, he asked me, “Are we leaving tonight?”
I chose to simply answer, “No, not tonight.”
A few minutes later he asked the same thing again and I responded the same way. “No, we’re staying here tonight.”
When everyone left, he continued to be his old self, helping me clean up the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, even putting some things away in the refrigerator. I had this brief warm feeling of the times when we entertained – together.
Then he went to lie down and I turned on the TV to watch a movie.
Perhaps half an hour later, he called from the living room, “Are we eating soon?”
I explained that we had already eaten and that our friends had left.
“Did they lose?” he asked. Lose? I tried to interpret. Did he mean leave? He just couldn’t explain and was clearly frustrated with me when I tried to find the right words for him. Finally, I concluded that he thought we were at a casino.
He came into the room, looking at his watch, and asked, “What have I been doing?” He looked so confused.
“All this time. I can’t remember. It’s almost eleven.”
I explained that we had sat around the dining room table for almost three hours, entertaining friends.
“But I don’t understand,” was his reply. He had a complete blank where the evening should have been in his memory.
Two or three more times he asked me the same thing, then decided he didn’t want to eat anything and went upstairs to bed. He was up there and I sat here, wishing I had handled it better – calmed, rather than frustrated him. Again.