I knew I was nuts for attempting to travel across the country with someone with dementia. It was as good as I’d hoped and as devastating as I’d feared.

We started off our trip by staying at a hotel close to the airport. It was easier for Jim’s grandchild to pick up the car from us (they are going to sell it for me). Also being so close eliminated the risk of being delayed by traffic on the bridge.

Jim assumed we’d be going back home after the night in the hotel. He was distressed to learn (again) that we were going to the airport to fly to see Mom. He commented that he wished he’d known so that he could have packed some clothes… ignoring the three huge suitcases in the back of our taxi (not to mention the 45 boxes he’d watched me pack, label and take downstairs to prepare for the movers.)

Best decision I made was to request a wheelchair. In the huge Vancouver and Toronto airports, we would normally have to walk hundreds of meters to get from one gate to another. Even though our layover was 90 minutes, Jim walks very slowly these days, I wanted us to have time to eat and use the washroom between flights. We would lose that time if we walked.

Of course, as luck would have it, both gates were within 100 meters (300 feet). The extra help wasn’t necessary at all but the preferential treatment came in handy for boarding and getting off the plane.

The flight itself was odd.

Most of the time I don’t think Jim recognized he was on a plane. He kept referring to the cabin as ‘this place’ and kept asking me, “How did I know to come to this place?” ‘how did it all come about?” He knew we’d been ‘here’ before but couldn’t remember why. It was as if he thought we were at some sort of annual conference. He’d also comment about how long the trip was. “Why does it always seem longer to get back from someplace than it took to get there? And finally, when he remembered we were going to see my mother, he’d ask, “Does she know we’re going to drop by?” (this one is partially my bad because I quickly stopped mentioning that we were moving across the country during the flight, to avoid agitating him while he was on the plane.)

During our layover in Toronto, Jim grew impatient while we waited. He wanted to be taken to our car because it had been left too long in the (hotel) parking lot and he feared it would be stolen. He was only slightly mollified each time I reminded him that his grandchild was looking after the car for us. Again, I stopped saying they were selling it for us, because that just added to Jim’s confusion.

When we  arrived, he seemed to recognize my brother. Whether he would have if I hadn’t said, “Oh there he is.” I don’t know.

He seemed content when we arrived at our new home. But, the next morning he woke me in a panic, “Wake up! Where the F*** are we?”

I know this was the right move for us but right now my heart is breaking for him as we transition. He looks like his world has turned upside down and he has no grounding point besides me.

It’s going to be a bumpy ride until he settles.