What's broken cannot be unbroken, but I like to think a heart can mend

Today I was walking past a local cafe feeling happy and light of heart. I saw someone I knew sitting by the window; we nodded to each other and smiled, and automatically I smiled too at the person he was with, a proper, open-hearted glad to be alive and good to know you smile, and she did the same - except that it was someone who'd fallen out with me some time ago and we have not spoken to each other since. We both smiled at each other before we realised who it was. In that instant, though, it felt like things were healed. We might not ever be friends, but something just mended in a glance, like some invisible clicking back into place.

Nick's fifth remote control has broken and we are waiting for a replacement to be sent out. It's been a week now. The TV is now out of warranty but we're getting the remote free as a goodwill gesture so I can't make too much of a fuss, but until it arrives he can only watch one channel on his television with an annoying error signal flashing on and off which would do my head in after two seconds but he seems to be able to ignore. I curse the day we bought the bloody smart TV, it's been nothing but trouble, but it's also a lifeline for him.
I did buy a universal remote when we first realised that the TV remote was so vulnerable to being chucked around and bashed, but we've never been able to match it to the television. The OT has been trying to install a bionic arm that attaches to Nick's table to grip the remote more securely, and she brought along her technical team to help, and they couldn't get it to match so I know it's not just me - it's a combination of annoying so-called smart TV and the Nick factor.

Meanwhile, the big comfortable black chair that Nick sits in all day has broken. I got a text from him yesterday to say that a wheel had fallen off - and it surely has. The chair is capsized in the corner like some poor broken creature. The company who fitted it say they can't do any repairs until they get a referral from the NHS, as although they supplied the chair, it was the NHS physio who made the purchase and therefore it's up to her to instigate a repair order. What, even in dire emergency? But they're adamant that they need the physio's sign off but she won't be at work again until the end of next week and emergency or no, there seems to be no Plan B.
Thankfully we still have the old orthopaedic chair I got for peanuts on the Abbeydale Road, and Nick can sit in it reasonably comfortably, but not for too long before his body starts rebelling. He is playing musical chairs with that and the armchair supplied by the council, which has always been too low for him to easily get out of.
Two of his absolute basics have disintegrated, and I feel so helpless for him. It's like some kind of horrible party game where all his favourite things are taken away, one by one. Still, we keep cheerful. He's really looking forward to Christmas and I am planning some treats for him. Tonight we're going to hear a friend's choir, and we'll have some Christmas lunches. If you're reading this and you're within shouting distance, get in touch, we'll be here and we're up for some festive jollies.

But thinking back to seeing the woman I had fallen out with; even though Nick's special things are broken and it's frustrating and sad for him, he's in good spirits. The breakages are constant; it's one of the features of Huntington's that you might not hear so much about but for us it's non stop, and it's hard to anticipate what's going to go next, or the difficulty level of getting it replaced or repaired.
If you or I broke our glasses or the car wouldn't start, it would be annoying and inconvenient but we'd manage; for Nick, he has so few resources that if his TV and hearing aids and radio and chair stop working and we're not there, then he's effectively in solitary confinement.  It's amazing then that he is so phlegmatic about it all.
In his pyramid of human needs, physical comfort and company from the TV are so important, but the really essential things are his human relationships and the cuddles he gets with his cat. These keep him going. And having such a short term memory that he can't remember enough to bear a grudge, so he stays open hearted like a child. I think as the silly season races up ahead, that it's probably a really good way to be.