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.