He died last year, of old age and frailty. He was a professor in Oxford University, he was a book writer as well. She was a music teacher , i think in the same university. She has dementia and she does not know our world anymore, she doesn’t remember him anymore. They were husband and wife.
A colleague sorted her messy room and in a bag full of random unwanted things and rubbishes, a note written in crooked letters and quite difficult to read (his hands were very unsteady and shaky) was found. It reads:
I WOKE LAST NIGHT WITH MOONLIGHT ON MY BED. I THOUGHT OF YOU AND WISH THAT YOU WERE HERE. I THOUGHT IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY SO I SENT YOU MY LOVE WINGING TO WHERE YOU SLEPT.
I knew him, I used to type and edit and print his stories and poems, writing was his hobby. We used to discuss anything under the sun except religion. He used to be a communist who became a socialist but stayed atheist. I knew he loved his wife, i knew he knew she was not with us anymore, sense-wise. I never understood how a very intelligent man cannot understand the fact that his wife has dementia, he treated her as normal. I explained to him a few times during our conversations that his wife wouldn’t be able to understand, more so, to retain information. He used to just look and smile at me and not comment at all, sometimes he will just nod. Now I know, i wasn’t able to grasp his reason for acting like that for my head did not read his heart.