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.

The Sun Rises in the Morning

This is a thank-you note to you, dear readers, because I know you have been praying for us. How do I know this? As bleak and hopeless as my last post seemed, the sun came up yesterday morning. It was a spectacular day. Bright sunshine was accompanied by cool breezes. And I got some sleep. It's amazing how sleep and an encouraging Sunday message can rejuvenate a person.

It was a good day for my husband, too. He laughed at all the pastor's jokes and even participated in the singing. He said he was happy, and he acted like it. He liked the food I cooked. He was pleased to know I wasn't just here for a visit. He held my hand as we talked. He thought I was 15 years younger than I am. (I didn't see any reason to correct that notion.) And he gave me lovesick looks between kisses all day, like a newlywed.

That's the weird thing about this disease. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Or today, either, for that matter. One minute, you want to throw in the towel. The next minute, there's no reason to. And vice versa.

I am grateful to have had this respite, a reminder that things can still be good, even when they're not so good. And I thank you again for your prayer support. Prayer changes things. Don't stop.