After a lovely evening with a dear friend at the Sunday night jam at the pub, where I was tormented in between the beats with how much my love would have enjoyed the entire event –the sort of happy funky musical event we sought for always –I am again overcome with angst. How do you live through this agony?
Each time I grasp at life, I am struck tumbling down again because he is not there to enjoy it with me –the enjoyment that makes it all so much sweeter. The lack of my man turns every grasp I make at recovery into bitter ashes.
For some reason I am remembering the time about 9 months ago when we staggered to the post office where we get the mail for our magazine. Don barely made it up the steps, so I got him in a chair to wait, holding his walking stick and looking quite frail, while I stood in line. The guy behind me started chatting and we were joking around when I hear a tiny determined voice announcing to the assembled line in general, “That’s my woman there. She’s a really good woman. That’s my woman.” From what I could tell through my embarrassment, the other guys in line were sympathetc and encouraging.
His determination to hold on to me, for his own care -very practical – but also from our love – probably makes this parting which neither of us want (although my freedom is slowly expanding in my mind) so much more painful.
Don seems happier today. Nice to be with. But he had peed all over his room again this morning. Shoe, chair, etc. … I started to cry and the care aide gave me a hug and said, it’s OK we know it is just the way that disease goes…. )
I’m his woman and he’s locked up in a dementia ward. Where all reports are that although he still constantly asks for me (but only recognizes me half the time when I come) he is doing fine, even singing and dancing on occasion when the time is right.