You Were the Best

A couple of my husband's former colleagues came by for a visit this weekend. It was a perfect time of day, with sundowning hours away. My husband was cheerful and friendly. Though it was clear he wasn't tracking with the conversation at all, he did try to participate and was enjoying himself. I was glad to see him happy, the center of attention.

Just as everyone does with long-time friends, we talked about our families, caught up on other news, suggested films to each other, mourned friends and co-workers who had passed, and chatted about what we're up to now. What we're up to here is pretty much obvious, and the sadness in our guests' eyes at that realization would have been difficult to miss.

At one point, while our visitors were doing their best to casually bring memories forth so that my husband might better understand who the folks in front of him actually were, one of them said, "You were the best manager I've ever had." That comment, so sincere and unsolicited, brought tears to my eyes.

It's been a lot of years since my husband retired and a lot more years than that since either of these two wonderful people worked with him (though we have seen them both on occasion), which made the visit that much more special to me. The affection those who have worked with and for him continue to have for him speaks volumes about the kind of presence my husband was in the workplace. He worked hard, but he also had fun. He was an encourager, a good friend, and an advocate for his team. They could count on him. He led by example and always tried to be fair.

I appreciate these little reminders now and then. They're something for me to hold on to when my husband isn't exactly the guy I remember from days gone by. Thank you for coming over, dear friends!

Respite

Tomorrow, my husband comes home from the memory care facility. He's been there for almost a week to give me a chance to rest, catch my breath, and enjoy a brief time of refreshing.

I find that I certainly do miss him when he's gone. My heart yearns for him even though, let's face it, taking care of him and anticipating his needs and moods as the disease progresses has become bone crushingly stressful. But taking care of a person is not the same as caring for a person, and I do care for him deeply. Perhaps more deeply than I knew. The thought of him being permanently gone from home someday fills me with sorrow.

That being said, I noticed today that I was starting to feel almost relaxed, that my thoughts were less fragmented, and that I was actually cheerful. So I'm feeling more like me and less like someone who's mentally and emotionally cowering in a corner. But it's taken almost six days to get to this point. This tells me that the next time I arrange respite care, it needs to be for a bit longer period of time.

I was nervous about how he would adjust to being away from home and from me, and I was also concerned that the staff would find him a bit of a challenge. The first time I tried respite, just over a year ago, it was an absolute disaster for both of us. I hoped this time would be better, and it apparently has been. Naturally, I've called to check on him, but not every fifteen minutes (okay, except the first day or two). The caregivers are, after all, there to give care rather than to take phone calls from anxious relatives imagining all kinds of unpleasant scenarios. I was reminded once or twice that I needed to rest and relax. And that they would call me if the need arose. I took that to mean, "Lady, don't drive us nuts over here!"

So, tomorrow, he'll be coming home. I hope his transition back to our normal routine will be smooth and relatively peaceful. I imagine myself entering the facility, seeing him, joyfully giving him a big hug. I hope he will be just as happy to see me.