When a Stranger Calls

Remember that old horror movie?  The one where the babysitter gets creepy calls all night and the police trace them and tell her “the calls are coming from inside the house.”    About that…

Gary is immobile so when he wants something while I am sleeping in the other room or working downstairs, he calls me.  When I see his name on my phone, I have to steel myself because I never know what’s coming.  The last week or so has been especially difficult.  He is deteriorating rapidly and when I’m speaking with him, I don’t even know who he is.  It’s his voice coming out of his face but the words are meaningless.  His mind is creating memories, elaborate memories, of things that never happened.  And as those created memories flourish, there is no room for his actual memories.  Our past together is disintegrating.  His personality has vanished.  His sense of humor is gone (well, his jokes were never really that funny but at least he thought mine were).  When I look into his eyes, every day I see less of the person I knew.  He is vanishing right before my eyes.

So yeah, babysitter in the movie.  I get it.  It’s scary when the call coming from inside the house is a stranger.