The best partner is the one you can do nothing with | members only
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I shared this experience with a friend, who shared a poem by the Uruguayan author Mario Benedetti that he thought would be relevant. It reads in part: _If I love you it’s because you are_
_my love my accomplice my all_ _and out in the street arm in arm_ _we are much more than two._ _Shmying_, I realized, is not just a walk to nowhere. It’s part of a couple’s DNA. When we
_shmyed_ together, we were “much more than two.” Nowadays, when I _shmy_, it’s just me. I often feel lonely on these solo walks, thinking about what Marsha and I had — and what we’ve lost. A
few weeks ago, the staff at the house where Marsha lives suggested I take her on a walk — which means pushing her in the wheelchair she now needs to get around. They said they’d been taking
her on short walks and she seemed to enjoy them. Seeing Marsha in a wheelchair is depressing. It reminds me how much of an avid and vigorous walker she once was. But one thing I’ve learned
about dementia is you have to deal with things the way they are. So with Marsha seat belted in her wheelchair, off we went on a balmy September afternoon. There’s really no place to go in
the neighborhood around the house: just a series of winding suburban streets, some with sidewalks, some without. But on the initial venture, I enjoyed the fresh air, and I found that being
in nature — even suburban nature — helps me forget about the dementia, the wheelchair, the uncertain future. The wheelchair walk turned out to be a welcome change of pace from our usual
visit routine — listening and singing along to music, looking at photos, FaceTiming with family. We can’t really converse these days — Marsha says some words and phrases but can’t really
sustain a back-and-forth. So on our walks, I make all the conversation — snarky comments about the houses, noting a beautiful garden, expressing my annoyance at the lack of sidewalks. I tell
Marsha what our kids are up to and recount funny and funky moments from my day at work. The other day, she looked at me as I blathered on and said, “Shut up!”