Why I Loved Rediscovering My Ex-Husband

by Carolyn See

Word had begun to come down from that cabin.

“I’m worried about Dad,” our daughter would say. “He doesn’t remember much of anything anymore.” And one night he told me, “My memory’s going.”

When it was time to renew his driver’s license, Tom couldn’t pass the written test. They took his license away, which meant he was basically alone in Topanga with no way in or out. The fire department gave him his own fire extinguisher; in case of conflagration, he was to cover himself with foam. More and more, his wife’s job took her away from home.

At an Alzheimer’s support group—I only heard this—she complained of her husband’s violence. Over dozens of phone calls, my daughters and I came to the same conclusion: “But that’s just Tom! If she can’t stand the heat she should get out of the kitchen!” By that time, actually, she’d more or less gotten out of the house altogether.

I was alone, too. My beloved partner of 28 years had died. One night, I called.