Perhaps I’ll die in the fog of dementia.
Perhaps I’ll forget what buttons do and I’ll get mad because I am cold and madder because someone I don’t know is putting a jacket on me.
Perhaps I’ll look into those eyes and not recall our decades of moving and being as one. Will I know you still love me?
Even then, maybe I’ll forget the world is full of pain and horror.
Maybe I’ll find myself at the nativity, unaware of why or how I got there but feeling delighted anyhow and filled with the hope that only children and gods can give you.
Maybe my last months are a warm haze of compassions and kindnesses and helps and comforts.
Maybe I’ll lose my temper-as in lose my ability to lose my temper (Lord, don’t wait long to take this from me.)
Maybe I’ll just float in a dreamworld of love.

I hope I am kind in return. Even if I’m trouble and hassle, Lord, let me be kind and unangry. Let me be easy and pleasant to whomever is helping me. And let people who love me, who are sorrowful at what they’ve lost through my disease, be at least comforted in knowing that, in my full mind, I loved them deeply and am grateful for all they did for me. Let them know I am sorry for any and all wrongdoings. Help them, as they struggle with my struggle, to know the real me is sorry for the trouble. But I am so glad you are with me.