Each week I see the pain and desperation ever more present in her eyes. "How can I bring him back?" she asks. She lives alone in their home. She sees him at his new place, every week, knowing that each time the disease has changed him just a little bit more.
Today she told me that she can hardly cope. She begs for ideas—for how to connect with this man whom she loves, for how to give him the kind of love and interaction that he feels on the inside even if she can't see his response on the outside. She spoke as though her entire body and soul are telling her to not give up, but she needed some reassurance that this wouldn't be a wasted effort.
I told her that I believe in her love for her husband, and that I believe that he is still in there, ready to soak up her presence. We talked about what people say when someone is in a coma or at the very last stage of life. People say that a person in this state can hear their loved ones, feel the connection, and live off of the hope of their soul mates—they are still very much alive on the inside.
I said that we must believe that this could be the same for her husband; and I encouraged her to never underestimate the energy of love that can be shared by the touch of a hand to a face, a hand to a hand.
