I looked at the clock. One o’clock in the morning. Through my tired haze, I heard her sobbing. I shook Aaron awake and sat up in bed. “I can’t understand you. Try to slow down and tell me what’s wrong.” “It’s Milo. He hit me.” “What?” “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Kirstie. It’s the Alzheimer’s. It’s getting worse.” “Where is he now?” “He’s in the living room yelling at the imaginary children he says are crawling all over the furniture. Can you come over and sit with me until he falls asleep?” “Of course,” I said. “I’ll be right there. Do you want Aaron to come with me?” “Yes, please. He can help me put him to bed again.” “OK. Listen to me. If you can, stay in the next room where you can see him but he can’t see you, OK?” “OK.” It hurt to hear the pain and fear in Lily’s voice. She was normally strong and self-assured. Aaron called Opal to come watch the kids. I dressed, and we were in the car in less than ten minutes.
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