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What is primary, progressive aphasia?

"What is primary, progressive aphasia?" asked our new weekend caregiver, who has done memory care for five years. How many times have I had to answer that question when describing Becky's cruel condition. For short, it is PPA. I have had a neurologist not know what that stands for. You will find out if you read this blog. It is a rare form of dementia that strikes the frontal lobes of the brain first, then marches on to ravage the rest of the brain. Becky was diagnosed in March of 2014, although the symptoms were noticeable earlier. It took years to get the proper diagnosis. Why should I--someone who has written many books and who has a web page--start another blog? I write to save my life, to strain for some perspective in the midst of mind decay. Perhaps what I write will touch some of you who care for those with PPA or for those other forms of dementia. In a few months, my book, Walking Through Twilight: A Wife's Illness, a Philosopher's Lament , will be
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Church with Becky

Becky and I are followers of Christ. She cannot remember not believing in the Gospel. I became a Christian in June of 1976 when I was nineteen years old. Attending religious ceremonies is difficult for Becky. She will sit quietly and stand when others stand. Unless the music is an old hymn or gospel song from the 1970's of 1980's, she will not sing or even hum along. Communion is difficult since it requires some coordination, especially if you have to drink from a thimble. Today we took communion from a communion station, so it was more confusing for her. I gave her the bread and said, "This is the body of Christ broken for you." I took the juice and said, "This is the blood of Christ shed for you." I am not sure how much that helped, but in that moment, I because a priest for Becky. I said to Becky what is said to me every week in my Anglican Church. Becky cannot go there because the music is too loud for her. We have Becky's weekend helper (we jus
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Wordless

Those of us who love dogs have experienced being with a dog who wants something, but cannot express it in our terms. Sunny sometimes looks at me intently, but he doesn't need food, doesn't need to go outside. I don't know what he needs because he cannot tell me in a precise way. I have to guess or give up. Tonight, Becky and I were relaxing, and Sunny was relaxing next to us. Then he got up and sat down in front of us with those imploring eyes, punctuating his presen ce with little squeaks of longing and sadness. I said to Becky, "Sunny wants something, but he cannot tell us." Then I knew what Becky was thinking. She could not put it into words, but I said, "You feel the same, don't you?" She said "Yes" and then puffed a sad laugh. To which I replied, "I am sorry..."
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