Claw Marks

Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it.

-- David Wallace

I've been thinking of this quote a lot this week. My visits with my friend Bob, who is living with dementia, have proven to be an incremental exercise in letting go.

He's settled in as well as anyone can to his gilded cage; I still visit once or twice a week. I'm not allowed to take him anywhere in my car, but they let us go for walks, so all this past winter, when I came, we'd bundle up and take a turn around the neighborhood. We didn't go real fast, but we'd walk about a mile, holding hands while looking at the trees and the birds, talking about whatever. 

This past month, it's been heartwarming to watch him watch spring unfold. As we walked, he'd marvel at the flowers, at the tender leaves on the trees, at the warmth of the breeze, the sun on his face.

Sadly, two weeks ago, we had an unsettling experience while we were out. We were almost back from our stroll when his left leg decided it didn't want to listen to him, and he began having extreme difficulty walking. About the time I was ready to call for help, the nurses saw us struggling and came out to assist. 

After some food, rest, and Tylenol, the episode passed, and he's almost returned to normal (whatever that is). But now, of course, we can no longer go out for walks in the neighborhood, and instead are restricted to the small secured yard off their dining area.

So, the sphere of his world inexorably closes in one more ring. He hates it. We both do.

This is hard. It feels like the opposite of watching a child grow - instead of marking all the firsts, I now note the lasts of our long friendship. The last time we went out to eat. The last time he was able to come work in my garage. Now, the last time we took a long walk together. 

My leaf, the one I wrote about a few weeks back, is finally gone from the tree. Whether it wrenched itself free and took the leap, or the tree finally let go of the last of the threads holding it close, I will never know, but the coming of spring seems to have forced the issue.

There are still a lot of threads holding me to Bob; it hurts to see them snap one by one. It's not yet time to complete the process of letting go of our friendship, but that time is on the horizon.

I only hope, as with the tree, that the snapping of that last thread will herald a return to a new cycle of life for him. 

For me, I will try to keep the claw marks to a minimum.