Yesterday I realized I did something right. Despite the constant voice in my head that says I’m not doing enough, or I’m not doing it well enough or fast enough, I still did okay. I realized this when Jack made a comment. It wasn’t intended as a compliment, but it was the best compliment I ever got.

We had been talking for three days. I’d been trying to get to the bottom of his latest assertion that he’s done here and wants to leave. “All you have to do is buy a car and I can drive back home.” he kept saying. “It’s easy!” Never mind that he can’t drive, nor do we have resources to move. Nor does he understand all the expenses we would be saddled with if we did. All he knew was that he wanted something and I wasn’t giving it to him. In that respect it was a pretty tough week.

But I kept asking questions. I kept coming at it from different angles, trying to help him articulate what was really going on. This took time, patience and a lot of deep breaths. But it also helped me to realize what was really going on in his mind.

Jack wants his freedom. Part of him remembers when he could simply hop into a car and drive somewhere. He wants to be able to come and go as he likes. If we had a car, he would have a choice about leaving. At least he thinks so.

Right now he feels trapped. He hasn’t driven since February of 2016, when he voluntarily took himself off the road. He knew then that he wasn’t a safe driver, and he was wise enough to stop. Unfortunately those days are gone.

Jack thinks nothing is wrong with him and that he can drive just fine, but he can’t. He can barely dress himself. He insists that he no longer has dementia and that he is much better. (There is a medical term for this, but I can’t remember what it is). He is fine now, he tells me. It’s the rest of the world that’s gone crazy.

“Except for you.” That was what he said yesterday after we had been talking for an hour and a half. “The whole world has gone crazy except for you.” When he said that, time seemed to stop. There was so much underneath those few words.

That was the moment I knew that, despite all my perceived failings, I was doing things right. All the hours spent listening to Jack, looking past what he’s saying to what might be underneath, and seeking to understand his language are paying off. It may not be a huge victory, but it is confirmation that what I am doing for him makes a difference. And on these days, when he’s slipping away more and more, I can’t ask for more than that.