Burt seems less restless, even calm, despite the endless chatter. He’ll say he’s scared, but it isn’t urgent.
In other words, the prediction that this declining state would be “easier” has come to fruition.
His aides can give him water or juice. He’s amenable to eating if they feed him.
Burt now entertains himself in conversations that require no response.
Since he’s in his bed, I don’t have to worry that he’ll fall; I don’t need to hover while he shuffles about.
There are issues with being bedbound. The pressure sores require daily bathing. I have to slather lots of cream over him.
There are other disadvantages. Burt doesn’t move much, so he experiences more frequent constipation. He’s lost a lot of strength in his legs.
He’s disoriented.
Communication between us is pretty rudimentary.
It’s hard to ascertain if he needs or wants something.
It’s lonely for me. I think he finds companionship in the stories he spins.
Since he is more confused than he had been, less aware of his surroundings and needs less moment to moment attention, I can find a little more time for myself.
Right now, that’s my plan. That’s the new focus. I need more time away from my grief and sadness.
Taking time off for myself even on the weekends (which Burt and I had reserved for just us) is another small point of pain. Changes and losses. Losses and changes. And cope rhymes with hope.
this is our life 
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