The Routine of Tiny Perfect Things

I know that the novel and movie “The Notebook” contains elements similar to my experience with Cindy. A man refers to a notebook to remind a woman with dementia of their shared past and love. The symphonic slideshow I rehearse almost daily that relives our 5,000 mile walk across the country resembles this strategy of staying connected.

Because of this similarity I am not likely to ever read “The Notebook” or watch the movie. I understand many people love either or both. I understand I tend to be moved by such movies. I understand the reality of my caregiver situation differs significantly with “The Notebook” fiction. Still, the potential of the movie hitting too close to home is not a risk I am willing to take. I would watch such a movie only by accident.

Accidents happen.

I treat the period from Valentine’s Day of February 14 to Cindy’s birthday on February 19 as Romance Week. In our limited capacity for celebration we watch romantic comedies during this period. This year I selected movies we have not seen before, such as the “The Map of Tiny Perfect Things.”

The movie provided no advanced warning for capturing the feelings in my current situation as a caregiver. How could there have been? The only things I knew about the plot ahead of the time was the teenage romance that formed the genre and that it involved a time loop. I enjoy time loop movies like “Groundhog Day” and television series like “The Good Place;” this seemed like a good bet for entertainment.

The movie features a teenager pursuing a common theme with time loops, perfecting the day he is trapped in. This goes on until he discovers someone else caught in the time loop with him. He convinces her to join him in hunting and mapping all the perfect moments that could be found in that day. Eventually he wants a romantic relationship to develop, but a poignant secret holds her back.

I’ll spare you the spoiler alert of that poignant secret but, once the male protagonist discovers it, he realizes he is not trapped in his own time loop, but hers. He also realizes that he no longer can, in good conscience, impose his desires on her in the time loop. Instead, he resigns himself to his potentially infinite involvement in a time loop he cannot escape.

That feeling of resignation to a time loop beyond one’s control hit me like a brick. For eight years of my caregiver existence time progressed linearly. As Cindy declined I made adjustments to the “new normal.” Almost two years ago Cindy had her first seizure and went on hospice care. Since then I have experienced few “new normals.” Instead each day has become more like a time loop of the previous day.

Instead of a map of “tiny perfect things,” I developed a routine. These routine things help with Cindy’s will to live, my brain health and welcoming each new loop into existence. They mostly work. When I go to bed in the evening I look forward to starting the routine over again for the next “loop.”

I particularly look forward to the start of each day. After spending a few minutes changing Cindy’s mattress pad, I lift her out of be bed and hold her in my lap, where I rock her as we listen to music. I suspect this tender scene would bring a tear to the eyes of most observers. I would miss this start to my day when the “time loop” ends. Plus who knows? Maybe I am not as dedicated in my routine for brain health when the loop ends.

Yet the uncertainty from essentially being caught in Cindy’s time loop leads to this feeling of resignation, a feeling portrayed in “The Map of Tiny Perfect Things” better than anything else I have watched. I can engage with a modicum of joy in my routine of “tiny perfect things” each new day that loops around, but must resign myself to being stuck in a loop beyond my control, seemingly without end. Having stumbled upon this discovery by accident, from now on movies with time loops will set off an internal advisory label for me.

“The Map of Tiny Perfect Things” is a Prime Video original movie.