Over and over and over. “I want to go home. C’mon babe, let’s go.”
This had been going on for 3 hours – we had gone for a drive, perhaps foolishly, twice, because I hoped the foul weather and the motion would break the pattern.
I should have known better. “I want to go home,” He wailed over and over. He would look around our house and recognise it as ours for a moment and then say well, that’s fine, but I want to go home.
C’mon babe, let’s go. Tugging at me, hugging me and caressing me, ready to crush me and my chair, sometimes demanding to know what was wrong with me – was i mad? Worthy of temporary pity? Did I really want to push him away from me? –
C’mon babe, let’s go. What do we need to take? C’mon babe.
I wept and wept and finally smarten ed up and gave him enough medication.
After it took effect, and between dogs and strange men running through the room, he kissed my hand, and said, Thank you, babe.