One of George’s favorite “exercises,” as he called it, was our reading time.
He would sit on the sofa, and I would sit on the armchair with a book in my hands — and my glasses properly on, of course. He would tease me and say, "Don’t tell me you can read those prints without glasses!”
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| "Don't tell me you can read those prints without glasses! |
I would read aloud to him, slowly and clearly. After finishing a chapter, he would say, “Alright, now close the book. Tell me the story.”
That was where the real fun began.
Sometimes I mixed up the sequence. Sometimes he remembered details I forgot. Sometimes we both confidently told the story wrongly and only realized it when we reopened the book. And then we would laugh so hard at ourselves.
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| Reading together, remembering together, retelling stories together! |
George said this was how we would keep dementia away — by forcing our brains to work, to remember, to retell. But more than that, it kept our hearts close. We were not just reading a book. We were sharing thoughts, sharing laughter, sharing life.
And often, this verse would come to my mind:
“Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom.” — Colossians 3:16
Reading together, remembering together, retelling stories together — these are not only exercises for the brain. They are exercises for love.
In these quiet afternoons, we were keeping more than dementia away.
We were keeping our marriage alive.
(Written from memories of our days together in the summer of 2021.)
