Jack and I had a few good weeks once he went on Hospice. He got his strength back. In fact, he grew stronger and stronger until the day he died.  And for most of that time, thanks to a steady dose of steroids, he was lucid. But, as Dr. Fratkin had forewarned, the day came when the steroids stopped working. That time collided with a nearly total collapse of his short term memory. So we had on our hands a big, strong, psychotic dude who didn’t remember what he did two minutes ago. Due to the steroids, his life at that time revolved largely around food. As it had last spring, my daily routine consisted of making and serving enough food to feed a barracks of young soldiers. He ate it all so happily and gratefully. Breakfast—french toast, hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs—was his daily favorite. My nickname for him at that time was Steroid Jack. He liked it.

We first noticed the change on the morning of the bagels. There was quite a posse of us here by then. Our son Jesse was almost always here, and our respite caregiver Tully, as well as family friends Karen and Frank, were often here as well. It takes a village to feed such a man. I was somewhere, either on or off the property, when Jack asked for a bagel and cream cheese. Karen served it to him. He came in the kitchen only a few minutes later and asked where his bagel and cream cheese was. She gave him another. And another. Then they had to cut him off, afraid he’d make himself sick. Things got more intense from there.

We often left him alone in the house. He wanted solitude desperately, and he hated the feeling of people hovering over him. He would often go into his bedroom since he knew that we couldn’t hear him on the baby monitor from that room. I was outside in the beautiful fall weather, parked on the patio as I often was, when I realized it was too quiet. I went in and peeked in the bedroom. He had one of our large dinner plates on the bed, and he was pantomiming making some concoction on the floor by his feet. “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, in my very-light-and-casual-so-I-don’t-piss-him-off tone of voice.

“I’m making a burrito,” he said, with his God-she’s-stupid-but-I-am-trying-to-be-nice look that he had perfected.

“Oh, yum, enjoy!” I said, and quickly left his private kitchen.

About fifteen minutes later I heard him back in the front room, so I went in to spend some time with him. He had turned on the t.v. and was sitting in his chair, an upholstered swivel rocker that was his favorite. He kept getting up, though, agitated, looking for something. The dinner plate was on the t.v. tray next to his chair, empty. He was looking under and around books and magazines, in cupboards, more and more agitated. Finally I asked him what he was looking for.

“My burrito,” he said with great sorrow in his voice.

“Did you eat it already?” I asked. I got the look.

Finally he gave up and sat down, so forlorn.

“So I know it won’t be as good as the one you made, but would you like me to make you another one?” I offered.

“Yes.”

I did, but when he saw it on the plate he left it there and went immediately to bed. I didn’t have the heart to eat it myself.

A day or two before he died, he wanted ice cream. I got him a bowl, and got myself a little, too.  He asked for ice cream a few moments later, and I refilled his bowl. Then again he asked for some, and I refilled his bowl. The next time I discouraged him, afraid he’d get sick. He got up himself and went into the kitchen. I saw him reach for granola bars and get some mineral water. “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, in the tone I’d perfected.  “Getting some ice cream!” he called.

He was so thoughtful in his psychosis, he brought me a bowl too. It was half a granola bar swimming in a shallow pool of mineral water. Jesse was watching the whole thing from the kitchen, and our wide eyes met in a combination of sorrow and fascination. Jack sat on his hospital bed (which he’d made into a day bed with pillows) and savored every bite.

I left mine untouched.

This is the last photo of Jack I took before he died. He is making his own version of ice cream. Note that our version of ice cream is right there. He’d gotten that out of the freezer before opting for the granola bars. The mind is a fascinating thing.

Friends of CC and Jack started a GoFundMe to help CC pay off Jack’s medical debt. She has a little under $10,000 left to pay off. Thanks to all those who have contributed. Here is the link if you would like to help.