Saturday, October 2, 2010

I hate Saturdays!

I hate Saturdays. They linger forever. I have things to do around the house, but Bob can do nothing so he drifts around following me, looking mopey, making me feel guilty for not sitting down and entertaining him.
Today I accepted that he "just wants to be with [me]" so I didn't let his shadowing bother me.

When I had some bills to pay and pants to shorten, I suggested we sit on the bed and he could listen to music while I worked. OK.

I came back with my sewing box and sat down.
He exploded, "Please (at least that) don't bounce around. I told you it hurts my eyes."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea. It's hurts your eyes?"
"I told you yesterday."
A bit more of that with him making little sense but me working to calm him and I suggested that I go back downstairs so I wouldn't cause his eyes pain.
"Sure. You'll be glad to get away from me."
"Bob, I'm trying to help you be comfortable."
"Can you talk any louder so all the people in this building..." he gestured broadly toward the bedroom ceiling and the fan "... can enjoy it. I'm sure they think we're idiots!"

It wouldn't surprise me if "they" do think that. I know we are.

1 comment:

  1. I couldn't do what you are doing. WATCHING my father do what you're doing was hell enough. Having him die and leave me "in charge" of the nursing home was hell enough. But where you live...

    When Mother was about where Bob is, she would sometimes say her arthritic back hurt awfully. She would walk around with her shoulders hunched over--and honestly, it looked like she had osteoporosis. But she didn't even have arthritis. When her mind faded farther out, her "pain" vanished and she walked about straight and strong. She didn't know which way to go, or why, but the pain was gone. Maybe Bob's pain and exaggerated sensitivities will wander off someday soon.

    I wish I could give you something for your suffering. I wish I could tell you something helpful. I will go to my grave ANGRY with modern medicine for forcing my mother to live for YEARS in a bed, in diapers, unable to speak or feed herself--and forcing her to eat--until at last she inhaled it and God was allowed to take over.

    Don't drown in the rain. Your life is precious too.