You Sit with Me

Memories as vivid as these orchids 
I imagine you at a table in 
The café in Sotheby's, one
Where an older couple sits
As I pass. I imagine you as
You eat a tuna sandwich we
Buy at Pret. I say imagine,
Not remember, imagine is 
A more vivid word. It is of
The present and I see you
In the present. You are my
Gift, my  treasure. I imagine
You as we were, transport
You forever in my heart to
Imagine you, as you were 
When you were here with me 
At those familiar places where
We were together. I see us,
You there with me. These are
Comfortable memories that
Give me comfort as I imagine
You when we were together

Musing

Today, I was thinking, with a bit of regret, that over the years I had not told Burt that he was handsome.

This twinge was triggered by a poem in which I called him “my handsome man.” Isn’t it too late to let him know now?

My regret is only half serious. Burt knew how much I loved him. I told him I loved him. Often. At least once a day.

Burt appreciated my love for him. I appreciated his love for me. As the song says, we had a “mutual admiration society.”

He readily accepted gestures as proof of love. Treats I brought home for him; the birthday books I made listing 80+ things I loved about him for several years running.

In truth, I have no regrets. I was demonstrative; I was attentive.

It’s all right to worry that I had not done enough. Self-doubt is a natural extension of loss.

I think all this soul-wrenching is part of the grieving process.

I write a poem

This is a poem because
Because I miss you and
Today I miss you more, 
Seeing your picture, one
Taken years before your
Illness changed you, when
A walk on the ramp to or
From our river path was
Your favorite way to spend
Some hours, when you 
Were strong, and active,
I miss you in that before
Time, but you know I also
Miss the Burt of the last 
Years, the five years that
Swallowed you whole, and
Took power, thought and
Reason from us. Years in
Which you struggled with
Loss and I struggled with
Losing. Today I miss all
Of you, Burt. The days you
Were strong, the days I was.

Cost of Care

Axios reports, as anyone caring for a person needing care knows, that home health care services are rising.

As someone who paid for home health aides for Burt for the better part of his five year affliction, I can attest how very expensive this already was.

If only… if only we had gotten long-term care insurance…. I don’t know whether to suggest that anyone young enough and healthy enough to be eligible, get LTC coverage.

I think it would help.

I understand the resistance to participate. I regretted our, Burt’s, and mine, unwillingness to face a possible future, the future we eventually encountered.

Quitting, is that really an option?

You know what, I quit

Based on A Prompt From My Caregiver Writing Group

In the rearview mirror when I watch my caregiving technique, I wince at this.

Yes, I would throw my hands in the air in dramatic exasperation. “I can’t, I give up,” I would say, making for the bedroom door.

You know what, I quit would not land the way it was intended. It would frighten Burt. It is a threat, afterall. It would not touch the rational and urge him to agree to whatever I deemed necessary this time.

It was the wrong thing to say, not just because it was completely ineffective. It was wrong because he did not need to have anything else scary in his life. He had the dementia and it depressed and diminished him in so many ways.

My job, my purpose wasn’t to coax hardship on him. I was supposed to, I expected myself to aid and protect him. Besides, “I quit” was never the truth of it.

A trip

My first trip in forever takes me to a meditation on when and where Burt and I had travelled. Our travels were circumspect; we stayed close to home.

We took the Amtrak to Hudson a number of times. Hudson is kind of the gateway to the Berkshires where I am going this weekend. On the Amtrak Empire Service.

Atlantic City was another of our destination; we went so often it seemed we were determined to sample all the accomodations on the Boardwalk circa 1990 to 2000. We went via train on about 4 of those visits.

What strikes me about these trips is the lack of luggage. That is to say, I don’t remember our having or carrying suitcases, backpacks, — gosh, no, no backpacks for sure- or any bags.

Trains to Saratoga, Boston, DC, I can’t picture us with a single piece of luggage.

On the occasions we rented a car, I can envision our popping cases in the trunk.

In my memories of our trainrides — we are unencumbered.

HiProtein O’s

I am still in that crazy but comforting space where Burt is present.

While eating protein oats, I am wondering if only I had had Magic Spoon high protein o’s for him  could I have prolonged his life?

Then I wonder if he would benefit from that; would he want his life extended; would he want to continue with the pain. And then I wonder if he was in pain.

I answer my questions. I knew he suffered so many losses not just throughout his life but during / because of his dementia. He felt the loss when he asked after his parents. He was always asking me where his mother was; he’d say “where is my father, I haven’t seen him.”

He was also sure I was never there for him. Even when I was by his side, he did not know it was me; he often wanted to know “why didn’t you say hello?”

Was he in pain when he felt so alone; when he wondered where his wife was, where his love was.

He had so many losses and he was so lost. I think, no I’m sure
Burt had had enough and that it was his time.

The  protein oats would not be a magic spoon to save him. He was ready to be allowed to go.

My memories and my love keep his spirit with me. It was time to let him go.

At home on a rainy day

As I sit here writing, and reading, I have a strong feeling that Burt is present with me.

It’s the first time, since the time I thought I needed to go check on him.

That had happened just a few days after he passed. It’s been months now, nearly eight, and this is different.

Today, I sense his presence as I write; I think oh boy, I want to read this to you. It’s as if he were here.

When I look up, I speak to the photos of Burt sitting on the table, watching over me.

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