The things that annoyed you when he was well will still be maddening when he’s ill.
You are not a saint, and your spouse’s diagnosis does not make you supra- human.
Leave the saints to religion and on tapestries at the Cloisters.
Cheerful caregiving is an art and an act. You can do it. You are an artist.
The above is a peptalk – to myself – and a prayer of contrition.
I transgress too often; my emotions make me lose my patience with Burt’s symptoms.
Oh, let me be honest when I am impatient it is with (aka against) Burt. I take my anger at the disease out on him. I regret it and rail at myself.
It is difficult living with this disease.
It is so complicated being human.
By way of apology for my impatience, I also dedicate a poem I wrote today to Burt. It’s called Lunatic. In truth, Burt has proved inspiration to many other poems, including this one about days that are extraordinary.
this is our life 