I'm Bob, I'm Bob, I'm Bob, I'm Bob, I'm Bob, I'm Bob
Today when I got Bob up, sitting on the side of the bed, he said, "I'm Bob". I looked at him, and he said it again. He kept saying, "I'm Bob, I'm Bob, I'm Bob", maybe 20 times. I told him I knew he was Bob, and looked at him to see what that would bring. He said, "But am I the same Bob... or another Bob?" When someone is here and I say something funny, do they laugh because it was funny, or because I said something they couldn't understand? Do they see me as the Bob from before, or some other Bob? I said, no, you did really well while your friends were here, and they enjoyed seeing you doing better. They understood you too. He still wondered which Bob he was.
I'm sure this has a relationship to us going to his office today to start tearing down his things to bring home. I can only speak for myself, and what I believe he is feeling... a surreal disbelief that he is no longer that world traveler that people flew into various countries to hear him speak, that he no longer is that healthy person that did exercises and sports, that he no longer has the freedom to be the Bob he was... so is he still Bob? Naturally, I do try to tell him he is the same Bob, who everyday, gets a little closer to doing the things he likes to do, and step by step, we'll keep working hard on it, together. But he was so much happier when he was exhausted from therapies and didn't have the ability to stay awake & think. Now that he is doing a little better, he is more wakeful, and he is thinking. I think he's been believing all along, that he'd be that shining example that makes it back and everyone is amazed, and he finally realizes, he's not going to be. The realization is painful, and shatters his ability to continue to be the person he knows himself as. Somehow, we will find a new normal. Somehow, he will smile again, and know he really is Bob.
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