Saturday, September 18, 2010

Two weeks do make a difference.

I am somewhat like the phoenix coming out of the ashes.
clearing the mind of unpleasant clutter.

 cleaning the cupboards
cleaning out what was not used in years.
Hospice here we come.

Getting my office/workroom in order for the jewelry making.
Must start next week in all seriousness.

How do I rebound so fast?
I have it figured out.
At the beginning of Bob's disease I was in denial yet I knew we were in trouble.
I tried to ignore all he forgot.
Slowly he became my obssession.
I got up and first thought was Alzheimer, went to bed and last thought: He has Alzheimer.
Slowly, ever so slowly he left us as his mental state became reduced to first
sentences which made no sense, then fewer words , and the mostly silence unless he
became angry then he could spout out stuff I never heard him say in 40 years.
Like the clock ticking loudly you notice things, this  is different today and that was different
from last week.
The man vanishes, memories fail him , anxiety becomes his companion.
I have good days and bad days.
People tell me at least once a day:
"Remember it is not your husband anymore, it is the disease."
I want to punch the speaker in the face. I want to be violent , I want to scream.
Instead I go inside my head and try for the hundred time what this really means.
"It is not your husband" well wtf explain that one to me.
He is there in front of me , in the flesh.
"It is the disease" oh that is a great excuse for bad behavior.
I can ponder that statement all day but I can't wrap my head around it.
Just words. I miss my husband, bring him back, all just words from
people who do not live with him. Words, words.

For 13 years I miss him more and more every day.
He leaves me one thought at a time.
He wants to be hugged and then the next day pushes me away.
I miss him.
There are days when he looks at me with a question mark in his eyes.
"Who are you?"
I miss him.
There are days that he hits me because I want to wash him.
He was the forever gentle man. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought
about hitting me.
I miss him, the old one.
13 years of saying goodbye, that is a lot of goodbyes.

Then comes March and I break my ankle.
I can't take care of him anymore.
I want to, "they" the new powers at hand tell me that I
need to recuperate, I need to take care of myself.
Shock City! Take care of me. How do I do that?
I have not given much thought about me but to put food in
my body and watch him 24/7 and walk the dog.
That is my life.
Wake up and feel if he is ok and if he is in bed with me.
That is my life.
Changing and washing the bedding daily that is my life.
Cooking sometimes 3 different things so he will eat
that is my life. I then eat what he does not want.
I hate waste.
Looking in the mirror , fix my hair, wear lipstick?
are you kidding me?
I can't stand to look at that old woman who has aged
20 years in the last ten.
I can't bare to look at her eyes, they are always so damn sad.
When I look into her eyes then I feel the pain even more
and cry like a bubbling idiot.

So after my rehab I come home and he is no longer there.
The bed feels very strange, after 42 years to sleep alone in a queen size bed
is like being lost at sea. Where is he? I touch the sheets and he is nowhere.
I picture him on the low small bed at the center and I cry.
I want him home.
Well, they tell me, you want that struggle again with his sanitary
habits? With his running out evry five minutes.
You can hardly walk and you want that?
So I start getting used to the fact that I have a lot less laundry
a lot less cooking to be done.
A lot more sleep.
I heal , my leg is improving every day.
Oh I miss him so much.
I do not even want to eat at the table anymore
I have gotten used to eating by my computer.
The computer is my friend.
emails cheer me up.
We are with you they say, we love you.

After six months to the date
my best friend leaves the nursing home in a bag.
He no longr needs nurses, no longer needs me
the kids, or his sibblings.

I am a widow.
I just hate that name, hate it.
It sounds Victorian to me, similar to a spinster.
A widow. It will take getting used to.

We are now 2 weeks later.
I feel differently and it is hard to explain.
In some ways I feel free.
Nothing to worry about anymore for Bob. Not going to
the nursing home. Checking for bed sores, checking his
clothing ordering hair cuts, little bit of this and a little
bit of that. Make sure to always have bananas for him.
All this is slowly vanishing from my mind.
No, not to do list anymore.

The leg is getting better every day, less swelling.
The psoriasis is rampant, sign of stress but I am so
I start to make plans.
I start to order beads, wires, mini tools, and I dream
of making jewelry again like we did in 1970.
I am rusty.
New stuff I never heard off is now available.
What we did with out fingers now a little machine can do.
I have a work bench so not to have the table cluttered
with beads and they may show up in the meatballs.
Son , Bob, helps me.

I need to get the yard ready for winter,
plan for the birds, find time to plant tulips which I
did not do the last 2 years.

I am feeling good when I wake up.
I look at my companion, my Maltese Bijou, and I
smile at his big black eyes begging me to take
him out.

It is fall, the chestnuts are dropping as the squirrels
are chewing the stems off. I gather what is left
while Bijou barks at everything. He is now my protector.
A butterfly comes to say hello.
I talk to old Bob wherever he is and I
thank him for the great married life he gave me.
He has to know that I will love him not until death us do part
but this kind of love I have is forever.

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