A few short months have passed since I thrilled at how well Burt was doing. He truly enjoyed his surprise birthday. That was in November when a group gathering to celebrate him was a very welcome experience.
He made it through my birthday party in early February.
It made his decline by the middle of March that much more dismaying.
His current level of awareness also involves a good deal of depression. He seems dragged down in mood as well as in logic and cognition.
And I think he’s just so darn bored. At this point, he’s not a self-starter in any way. If I don’t feed him, food just sits waiting til the bowl is knocked over by his fidgeting.
Likewise, he won’t look at a picture book or magazine even if I place it in his hands.
It’s hard to determine what will be of interest to him. For instance, I tried playing some music. It was clear that he wasn’t receptive to the classical. He said yes to Nat King Cole; this came with Bobby Darin and Sinatra, among other throwbacks to our youth.
After a while, it seemed like he was not enjoying the sounds. Wouldn’t you know as soon as I turned Spotify off, he asked for music.
It’s exhausting having to self-start for two.
My point in this post was not to launch that (obligatory) complaint but rather to be grateful.
I am grateful that the challenges of his care are not insurmountable.
I am grateful for those months when he was perky and engaged.
Gratitude is also a gift.
this is our life 