By Raffique Shah
July 31, 2024

On July 18 I lost my life partner, the woman whose beautiful face was the first thing I saw when I awoke, and the last thing I saw as I drifted off to sleep at nights. I must have had a hard day the day before, because for some reason on the morning she passed, I was lying next to her between sleep and wake, as close relatives of hers drifted in and out of our room, praying for her in between sobs and whispered words. If the last few weeks have been tough on my family, the last few days leading up to her death and funeral were sheer torture.

As I lay next to her for the last time, hundreds of thoughts kept running through my mind whenever I came awake during that night. She was in a semi-conscious state that doctors had approved and several times I reached across, caressed her face and pleaded with her to stay on, hold on, fight.

I got responses by way of a gentle squeeze on my hands and what I felt sure were muttered words too incoherent to be understood. As she breathed in oxygen from a tank at a steady rhythm, I listened to her, hoping she would find the strength to mutter words that would give us, her family, encouragement that she was still holding on. But deep in my heart, this petite woman who was a tower of strength, had long given up on the ravages of dementia.

This strange but insidious monster, that had wandered into our home, into our lives, had taken my wife as its victim. I felt helpless. There was no fight left in me. I—who had battled Parkinson’s for over a decade—had no more strength to help her when she must have needed it. Then again, I think not: we had often discussed our end-game, most times treating the subject with humour, but always sure that I would precede her. Of course we had no such powers that we had given ourselves, and we knew that. But still we entertained thoughts of how our exits would play out.

As it became clear about a year earlier that she was stricken with dementia, the family had to fast-track moves we had never contemplated to make the home a safer place for my beloved wife who, at any given moment, could walk out of our home and board a “train”, merrily heading on her way to see “mama” and “mai”. The ravages of dementia on the human brain are truly astonishing.

Coming out of our recent experience with dementia, I don’t know if its victims—who could be of any demographic, mid to later stages in life, but very frightening, not confined to the elderly—will ever be prepared to deal with its onset. We preach about the dangers of lifestyle diseases, but never venture to mention the fallout from such illnesses. Dementia now being a reality for many patients suffering from high blood pressure and uncontrolled diabetes.

We discovered that Rosina likely had this disease, when we observed her withdrawal from conversations that were commonplace in the Shah abode. Another indicator was incomplete sentences or failure on her part to make a coherent sentence. She was a master at the English language, which is why this was very surprising to us.

Luckily, we took measures to protect the new infant in our home as the condition rapidly degenerated. Many times she tested our patience, but our love for her never wavered and somehow managed to get us through what were some of the most trying incidents which could occur daily, multiple times for the day. Fortunately, our larger extended family stepped in to help alleviate the situation at home.

Because we cared so much for Rosina, we hired someone to assist with her care. Tremendous sacrifices were made by many to steer her in those final demanding days that taxed our resources to the maximum. Our two children ensured that she received everything humanly possible we could extend to make her life bearable. When the end came—we did not know at the time it was the end—she was surrounded by love and prayers from family and friends alike.

Recently when I wrote about our love, I mentioned that we had crossed 50 years of marriage. As I watched her that final night, silently sobbing, and wishing her return to full life, I knew almost everyone was wishing for the same thing.

She was not just a pretty face and a beautiful woman, she was a kind and loving person who had touched the lives of all those privileged to have met her and share her hospitality.

Rosina, my love, until we meet again…