Missing the one you love

Ash and I always shared a sense of the ridiculous.  Together with Jake our family hobby was people watching and often we wouldn't even need to say anything for the other two to pick up on what had been spotted.  We would smile at the same things, comment on shared views or, often, burst out laughing over something without a comment being needed.  I miss that so much.  It's not that the shared humour has disappeared altogether but more that it can't be guaranteed.  The man that could make me laugh from the moment I woke up until the moment I went to sleep is disappearing before my eyes and, although I'm getting used to it, sometimes I turn to say something and catch my breath when I realise that at this particular moment I will be wasting my time.  I have amazing people in my life that I laugh with, others that share my sense of humour and even more people who join me in seeing the ridiculous in certain situations but Ash was the one person who could be guaranteed to get my jokes with no explanation required.  Sometimes it still happens but more often he looks quizzically at me and asks what I'm smiling at.  At those times I realise I'm living with a stranger and all over again I miss the man I've shared my life with for the past 43 years.  Most people think that grief comes when a loved one dies.  Those of us living a life affected by dementia know it can come much earlier than that.

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