I take my respite seriously. I’ll admit sometimes too seriously.
Time away from the unusual thinking fostered by LBD is my golden ticket to staying sane. Or so I fervently believe.
I take that time each weekday. On the weekends, we have help so I can have less hands on with the care.
All of this allows me to enjoy Burt’s company in a more relaxed frame.
Over the years, there were many occasions when professional caregivers couldn’t make it.
In the past, I had treated those as opportunities to step in to spend time with him.
As his care has inevitably become harder, I have been more and more reluctant to stay home.
This may not be entirely fair to Burt, who has had to deal with unfamiliar aides without any warning.
He’s always complaining that I leave him. Staying home to care for Burt seemed like it could be a worthwhile experiment.
[I want to acknowledge that many of you actually care for your spouses hands-on and full-time. My hats off to you!]
Yesterday, when we weren’t able to find someone for our regular hours, I was pretty sure we could have a chance at a quieter day if I stayed with Burt. He wouldn’t be agitated by a stranger.
I was not thrilled to lose those hours I reserve for myself. I am so glad I did.
All day, however, he thought I was a different girl, so I wasn’t sure that I would get credit for spending the day with him.
We had a nice day. And, this morning, he acknowledged that I was home. 😎🤔👋
Today, I am back on my schedule. He’s again feeling abandoned.
this is our life 