Up at Mark's this friday. Hunkering down on the hi-speed, several jobs to finish up today. Eddy is off at day camp. He goes out on Fridays from 9 to 3 or so. I got him up at 8 and gave him his juice and instant coffee, cooled with an ice-cube. He asked me, as he often does, where we were. I told him he was safe at home in his bed, in a condo, in Abbotsford Canada, with me and Mark. I said we are neither in Paris nor on a boat. He seemed happy to hear this but I could tell he wasn't totally comfortable with the answer. I went out and came back a few minutes later and he asked if he had been having mental problems. I said, not mental problems but memory problems. I said dementia. Not sure I have told him so directly that he suffers from dementia. At breakfast he told us that he felt lost. Of course this idea hits you in the gut hard because it has to be so scary to feel lost in your own life. Mark cheerfully interjected that Marcel Gagnon had called and Eddy immediately responded how nice it was that Marcel Gagnon, his once salesman at Paulie in Montreal—still thought of him. And then we all felt happy again.
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