Minefields

So, I've been away ... mentally. Otherwise, my friends, life has continued.
Of course, Bob is deteriorating and much has changed and nothing has changed over the past four months, but I will try to catch up.

For now, here's how life has been:

Up one morning in early November in pretty good spirits.

We watched tv and drank our coffee altho’ I had to turn the news off quickly when they interviewed the woman whose husband was shot by Mexican pirates while jet sking on the Texas Mexico border; why is she on all the news shows??? Bob is already bothered by the cartels and wants me to agree that we will never travel to Mexico.

Done.

Time to go upstairs to shower and shave.

“I’m tired of shaving.”

OK. You want to skip today?

ForEVER.

Fine. Should I run the shower for you?

“I don’t need to.”

"I’ve turned the music on. Why not sit down and listen to it?"

No reply.

"I’m going to go take my shower."

“Good for you!”

I get the water ready and my robe, then look for him. He’s not in the bedroom with the music; he’s sitting in the great room and will not talk.

I have to shower; I still go to work if only part time. When I come out, he’s not on the couch. He doesn’t reply to my calls. Finally I find him sitting in the kitchen at the table.

In a really cheery voice, I say, “Oh, would you like to have your breakfast now?”

Nothing.

I go over and take his hands. I ask him to come on upstairs with me where the music is. He gets up but pulls away from me as I’ve been gently guiding him by his elbow.

He is lost. I can't stay with him emotionally at times like this or I will break.

We get upstairs, him: quiet and glum, me: fake merry sunshine.

Still no shower; let’s just change into clean clothes.

“I had perfectly good clothes and now they’re worth … worth … nothing!”

"These are good clothes but you wore them all day yesterday and last night."

"See. You can tell I like them. They're perfectly good."

I cave. Who really cares? They're perfectly good.