Caring

Witnessing a loved one suffer any long, drawn-out illness is painful.

Of course, it is.

When my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given  six months to live, it felt like we were embarking on this together. I wasn’t the one who would die, I know, but we faced her last days in solidarity.

Burt and I didn’t experience the journey in partnership; from day one of his illness, we no longer shared the same reality.

We talked, we hugged, we laughed but he didn’t have a grasp on the same big picture anymore. Those details were my responsibility now.

Dementia is that kind of a loss. I missed having a partner. I missed his support and presence. There were moments when it still seemed like he was himself. Just flashes.

I took over the heavy lifting and let myself enjoy what was left of him. There was his sense of humor; he was often thoughtful; he was very social; he was appreciative.

All that gave me a lot. Even those memories were sweet, although I wish he didn’t have to go through that.

Of course, I do.