It’s never just one thing.
We are all of us, those afflicted with Lewy, those caring for them, those without a care in the world, complex human beings.
My honey’s fractured brain sees the fractures and dichotomies.
He splits them up, breaks us into compartments of good and bad, nice and not nice. For him, it’s very personal. The bad one is not treating him nicely; it might be as small a misstep as having said no.
I am not just one person with moods and misjudgments, I am “that awful girl” who asked him not to shout in the night. Or the nice one who gave him comfort.
It’s never one thing that leads to his multiplying those attending to his needs. He has so many of us – wives, aides, and therapists – he keeps us guessing as who we might be.
this is our life 