We are sitting at the kitchen table. Jack has emptied his wallet and is studying the contents, his brow furrowed. He doesn’t know what anything is for.

“Tell me again.” he says, for the fifth time. “I’m all confused.”

“The brown card is the debit card. The blue card is the credit card.” I explain, also for the fifth time. Jack just shakes his head,

“Can you write that down for me?” he asks. “I need help figuring it out.” I make a list of his cards and what they are for, and I hand it to him. He reads it carefully, his brow still furrowed. Then he reads it out loud, slowly.

I know he still doesn’t understand. I also know the list won’t help. But I won’t tell him that. HE thinks it will help and that is enough. I am willing to do anything if it helps him to feel better.

So much seems to be changing right now, in both good and not so good ways. On the good side, Jack seems calmer and happier. He hasn’t asked to go home for almost a week. He has gone from hating the trailer to feeling safest in it, even if he still grumbles about the lack of space. He has resumed playing with his stones after several weeks of ignoring them.

On the not so good side, he has lost more ground. I realized this last week when he couldn’t remember how to water the plants. I had to show him which end of the hose to use, how to turn it on, how to make the water come out of the nozzle. I held his hand in mine, closed his fingers on the trigger and squeezed. He nodded without understanding and watered the entire patio along with the flowers. I thanked him for doing such a good job.

I also had to teach Jack how to husk corn. I showed him how to peel the “green” off, how to throw it in the garbage, how to clean the silk, how to break the cob in half and put it in the bin. He kept forgetting what to keep and what to throw away. I kept explaining.

And now the cards. This is the first time he has had no clue what they are for. No matter how many times I’ve explained, the light hasn’t come on. I suspect it may have gone out for good.

I am not sad, exactly. I have gotten to the point where I am beyond sadness. I am…I don’t like to say resigned to what is. Perhaps accepting is a better word, accepting what is. My mind is no longer fighting what my heart already knows. In some strange way it makes this new loss easier to bear.

And Jack, in his own way, has just summed up how things will be from now on. When I asked him if he wanted chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner, he just shrugged. “I don’t care anymore as long as you feed me.” he said. I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat and got up to light the stove.