As we travel deeper into the dark depths of the HD swamp, I'm frequently pulled towards the pointless and ultimately crippling practice of nostalgic thinking. Fall, Halloween in particular, has a way of casting me back to a time when I could enjoy and participate in life. Crisp air; blue skies. Colorful landscapes and festivals with costumes and laughter. Cider and candy. Tricks and treats.
Unbearable to remember now, knowing what's to come.
However, there has been a sequence of odd experiences I've had with MW during this journey which Autumn thoughts have stirred up and brought to the forefront.
The impetus is a seasonal book called Halloween Dreams wherein a handful of horror writers relate their favorite holiday memory - usually some scary or unexplained childhood event which forever twisted their minds towards the macabre.
And I, sadly, realize that I've never been touched by the supernatural. Or have I?
So much for the preamble. Here's the point:
Since MW started showing symptoms of HD, going on four years now, there have been a handful of occurrences where she's exhibited uncanny awareness.
The first time was actually quite terrifying. It happened back when I was drinking a lot of vodka, which I had to hide from MW because she doesn't allow alcohol in the house. Again, this is something that anybody who doesn't live in an HD house would understand or believe, but it wasn't really difficult to be a full-on alcoholic without the person living under the same roof even knowing.
I would pour vodka in empty seltzer bottles and store them in the freezer. When it came time to drink, I'd mix the frozen vodka with regular seltzer in another empty bottle and bobs-yer-uncle. MW sees me drinking seltzer with no idea that I'm floating down river V.
Then, once when she was complaining about me being alive, she made the comment; "and why do you have all these stupid empty water bottles all over the place? Are you pouring booze in them?"
I froze like a deer in the headlights. Where the hell did that come from?
Anyway, she immediately moved on to other complaints and nothing came of it but still.... Such an odd thing to say.
Again, anybody who doesn't live in an HD house would dismiss this out-of-hand because they would assume she really knew and was playing games or something; but no. MW had no idea I was drinking. She believes I agree with her low opinion of drinkers. Also, she is incapable of deceit. There would be no reason for her to suspect I was drinking; and if she did, she wouldn't bandy about. She would attack full force.
Yet, somehow, she had the thought that I was sneaking booze in empty seltzer bottles. It didn't stick and she immediately moved on - but where did that unlikely - impossible, really - idea come from? Spooky.
That would have been about two years ago. The other times were less significant in that they were purely "mind-reading" events which didn't have a physical (water bottle) component.
Next example: My grandfather committed suicide and, no surprise, there are times when I dwell upon it - was he a coward or a hero? Once, while pondering this question, for no reason MW started talking about him; asking questions. Seeking details. Note that he died when I was quit young and MW never met the man. Also, as a family, we don't talk about him much. Not many good memories there.
So why would MW start talking about him then? When he was on my mind?
Anyway, as per our usual course of conversation, I feigned no knowledge, made vague comments, and hemmed and hawed a lot. And, as usual, MW plowed ahead anyway - her point was that she respected people who only killed themselves but didn't commit murder; not like all those who take psychiatric drugs and go on shooting rampages (the point, of course, is that psychiatric drugs inevitably cause shooting rampages. Which is why she'll never take them. Yay.). Then, unbidden and for no reason, she made the comment; "if you ever want to kill yourself, you can leave."
Wha...? Where the fuck did that come from? How could she possibly... make that connection?
The other two examples happened fairly recently. A month or so ago, in one of these journal entries, I made the observation that, if there were suddenly a miracle cure for Huntington's, it would be too late for us anyway because MW wouldn't like the person I've become. Shortly after writing that down, my wife actually told me, "....I don't think I'd fall in love with you if we met today. You've become a bitter old man."
Weird for her to say. Not because of its hurtful and insulting nature - compared to other things she calls me, it's practically a valentine - but why then? When that's exactly what I'd been thinking?
And, finally, just yesterday, MW started talking about how her mother, after having been diagnosed with Huntington's, succumbed very fast to the ravages of the disease. This is relevant because lately I've been seeking information about how long "1st stage" lasts - we can't continue like this and I'm worried about leaving MW home alone when I go to work.
But these are my thoughts. MW had never talked about how fast the disease overtook her mother before. Why bring it up now, when I'm considering the exact same thing?
Okay, not exactly Stephen King territory, but still....
No comments:
Post a Comment