Earlier this week, I had what I will call (for want of a more flattering description) a meltdown. It had been an excessively challenging couple of days, with Jacquelynn having almost zero energy and growing increasingly moody as her nighttime sleeplessness translated into daytime petulance. This was all made so much worse by the growing clarity that her mother, for all the money she’s sitting on, is completely unwilling to be of the slightest assistance in her only daughter’s recovery.
On this particular afternoon, it seemed that everything I said and did triggered Jacquelynn in some way, and she would be reduced to tears and frustration, feeling as though I was judging her or snapping at her. Once, she even thought I had cursed at her when it was actually myself I had been swearing at. One final, very minor (in hindsight) confrontation led her once more to tears and I kind of lost it. I fled the room and deposited myself on the exercise bike, all but tearing my hair out in my frustration, and 100% sick and tired of being me. Full to overflowing with self-loathing and seeing only blackness in my vision, it was Jacquelynn who once more came to my rescue with a simple, crystal clear and beautifully prescient observation: “You need to get back to the things that bring you peace,” she said. “Listen to Dr. Dyer again. Re-read that first book.”
It is an indescribably wonderful feeling indeed when I notice and am able to relate to Jacquelynn new and notable improvements n her cognition, but it is an even more magical and brilliant sensation when she notes them herself. This was the first such moment of several this week.
She was, of course, absolutely right. I knew it the moment she said it, too. Since Jacquelynn first gifted me with Dr. Dyer’s “Wishes Fulfilled” collection (book, 7 audio CDs, and 3 DVDs) in 2013, the (now late) Doctor has been a true guru and mentor to me, and his words and voice bring me peace and restore me to myself. It has had precisely that effect, too. I’m progressing through the book for (at least) the fifth time, and the countless YouTube videos, which she and I are watching together, are a truly transcendent experience for me.
Even more than that, though, was the absolute clarity and precision with which the thought was formulated and translated into speech for her. She not only recalled and cherished his impact on me but also remembered and spoke his name without struggle or hesitation. If you only understood how special and unexpected such a moment was, you’d be tearing up just as I am now recalling it. Then to see the light come on behind her eyes as she tilted her head toward me, a smile growing on her lips as she realized what she had just accomplished…
“I did that all on my own.”
This time, our tears were joyous and free-flowing.
Another similar though far less traumatic instance of clarity and recall occurred this morning…
There rests atop our refrigerator a gorgeous birch-bark basket (the photo above this article). A product of her impeccable decorating taste, she’s had it far longer than she has had me, and it’s been sitting right there for years. Today she looked up at it and said, “I’ve always loved that piece. I wonder what’s inside it?” So, of course, I reached up and brought it down to eye level for her. There wasn’t much in it, as it turns out, save a few hair clips, an emery board or three, and an old greeting card. I picked the card up and read the front to her. Halfway through my reading, though, she giggled and said softly “I LOVE this one”, already recalling and anticipating the punch line inside. She was actively laughing by the time I got to the inner page and read it for myself. Yes, it was very funny. Far more significant, of course, was her clear memory of the card and its contents. She realized this just as I was about to mention it, and again her face lit up: “I did it again!”
As recently as a few weeks ago, let alone several months back, this level of casual recall would have been impossible.
Yes, my friends, the lights are coming on, one by one, the thousands upon thousands of rooms in the vast mansion of Jacquelynn’s mind are lighting up and doors are creaking open.