I'm not even sure if this is going to the right reply. You're right they don't tell you a lot of a lot of it wouldn't be believed if they did. The testing does not have a baseline for the intelligent just for those of that age and education. It's geared to when the person is well down the path and we can get lost in the meantime. I'll leave as short story I wrote in hope the literary sense strikes the heart like the words of a song are nothing without the notes. It basically tries to bring all the "they didn't tell me" to the impossible process and the possibilities. If it makes sense I hope it does
Restoring by Remaining- A short story to describe the indescribable patient's trek
All of this is more difficult than I had imagined. I wasn’t given a choice. It was given to me. Now I, and I alone, will attempt to save what I can before time makes it worthless.
When you look at my task you see a large old cedar trunk that needs to be restored. In my heart’s eye I see a closing mind of dementia, and my task to appear the same. The large cedar chest still has worth, and the amount of value will depend on how well I can remove the stain.
I walked around it several times. Why? I don’t know. It was the same chest of my youth. I had walked by it each day as I went to work or to play or to visit family. You would think it would be familiar, but before it was just there and served its purpose without notice. It stored the trinkets of my childhood, the athletic medals of my youth, and the essays of my work.
Somehow the lock became jammed and the most skilled locksmith have tried but failed to retrieve its treasure. The value is inside but unreachable. My task was to make the outside as pretty as possible so someone, not knowing the treasures inside, won’t come and throw it as trash or place it in the dusted back room of an antique store with other such chests.
I stopped walking and got on my knees to feel the once fine wood. My fingers could feel more than eyes could see in the darkened room. The wood smith, creator of the chest, had skillfully lathed the wood so the corners were softly rounded unlike any other chest. This wasn’t just another chest. It was specially made, and I had to restore it.
My fingers felt the normal small dings of any old chest, but then they fell into deep gashes which years ago had almost split the wood.
I had forget those marks, but the creator made the chest strong enough to weather the wear. Then I remembered what left the marks more vividly than the moment. I saw the marks and forgot the beautiful rounded corners.
I wanted to get up and leave the marked chest. It disgusted me now. Then I remembered my task that only I could do. I needed to leave something of beauty for others to see.
At first I wanted to putty the marks to hide that they ever existed. But they did and they had, and if I was to restore the chest I wouldn’t hide what it was.
So I worked and polished and restored what could be restored. I soon found my hands were clumsy and I didn’t follow the needed steps. My efforts were futile but the more I worked the more my hearts saw the treasures inside. And I remembered.
Soon I knew others would still see an old chest, but I, but I, would know the treasures inside. I worked on for that day and now today to make what I can of that chest for others to see. Yet, it is not what others see that will measure the beauty of that chest. It is the treasure I know lie inside, and the warmth of knowing the Creator has made a chest whose beauty will never fade, and He one day will restore in even greater beauty what had been and what will be.
Finally my work made it clear. My task could not be completed by "me and me alone" but by me and Him who had created and His Spirit who does restore. I am too weak but He is strong and forever near.
I wish I could help practically, but all we can do on here is share and offer support. I hope you have at least some help in the form of care at home, day care, respite, that kind of thing?
