On the way to Kansas, Teckla and I had one terrible night in a motel. We were exhausted and had driven many hot, sweaty miles without air-conditioning. The fan had gone out just as we got to Diamond Lake and began descending to the high desert around Bend and Burns. It was 103 that day.
After showers, we collapsed into bed until Teckla woke up in a panic from a bad dream. Her voice and eyes were full of fear. Trembling she asked, “Who are you?”
I gently said, “I am your husband, Mark.”
She stared at me and said, “No, you aren’t. You are just pretending.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
Soon I was crying too. I knew Teckla’s dementia could someday come to this moment, but this hit like a hammer. I was crushed.
I gently took her hands and pointed to her wedding ring and then showed her mine. I said, “See we both wear the same rings. We are married. With this ring I promised to always love you and keep you safe.”
After I coaxed her back to bed, she sobbed, tightly holding my hand, her fingers rubbing my ring. Eventually, she fell asleep.
I don’t know what part of this was dementia and what was a nightmare hard to wake from. Next day she was fine, and she has not had another terror like this. She always knows who I am.
But the lesson of the night has pierced my heart. There have been nights when I have been as lost and afraid as Teckla, nights when I have not known where God is or who I am. Like Teckla clinging to my ring, I have sobbed and fallen asleep holding the promises of God. I am His. He is mine. He will never leave me nor forsake me. Though the night is long, the dawn is His.
