This past weekend, when we were visiting friends at the beach, J lost her iPad. I commented on it not being the best choice for J to bring her iPad to the beach.
The next day, we were packing up to leave and the iPad was nowhere to be found. We unpacked everything in J’s bag. No iPad. We searched the entire bedroom, the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No iPad. We looked under cushions in the living room. In our beach bag. In our friend’s beach bag. In the pockets of the beach chairs and the cart our friends take to the beach. I even checked the refrigerator. It wasn’t anywhere.
I resisted the urge to ask J where she had been when she last had the iPad or to try to retrace her steps. Asking such questions to someone with Alzheimer’s disease only frustrate the questioner and border on cruelty to the person being asked.
I have to admit that I did not take this particular setback with grace. We were expected at a party in the afternoon, and I had anticipated an hour or so to relax and read the Sunday paper before we had to leave. I had a hard time letting go of that fantasy.
We ultimately found the iPad in an extra bedroom near our room. J had plugged it in to charge.
I recognize this isn’t a particularly amusing or possibly even interesting post. But this is what living with a person with Alzheimer’s disease is like on a daily basis. Things disappear. Time I thought I would have vanishes. I am not as patient or understanding as I would wish to be.
The only thing I can do is move forward and forgive myself. Fortunately, J won’t remember my impatience and, for both of us, tomorrow is a new day.