First Anniversary

March 27, 2019

It's been one year since I drove my husband to a care facility in Napa for a one-month respite stay. I was scheduled to go on a short trip, and I really needed a period of rest. I had fully intended to take him home and hang in there at least a few months longer, much to the distress of my family and friends.

Little did I know how this respite stay would result in a precipitous downturn in his condition and permanent (so far) placement. Or perhaps that was about to happen anyway, and it's even possible that I just didn't recognize how much things had gone downhill. Sometimes, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. Or maybe it's more accurate to say you don't notice the temperature of the water in the pot going up bit by bit until it starts boiling.

Looking back, as breathtaking as the whole situation was at the time, I realize now it was the best decision for him and for me. It has taken a year for me to start getting any semblance of sleep pattern back, though sleep is still sketchy at times. I finally, just a couple of months ago and at the insistence of my children, started physical therapy for the injury to my arm that was exacerbated by repeated twists and pulls and yanks and pushes and grabs. This is apparently not an unusual injury for caregivers, especially those caring for dementia patients.

And so, though I miss him every day, even on the days when I spend hours and hours with him, I know I did the right thing.

But I still cry myself to sleep nearly every night.