Use it or lose it. True. Wanted to check exactly when I first picked up the guitar (depressingly find it is a year ago) and could not access this account. Jumped on the password email account carousel, which is Google at its worst, in an abortive attempt to update old defunct email address and was denied denied denied. In a devil may care WTF attitude pipped the plogger icon and lo and behold, it opened.
So here I am in surroundings at once familiar and strange. Have often thought of returning to record random thoughts - like yesterday; walking Mikaela to the gate on our morning constitutional, gazing at the tree trunks, one with a spot just the right size for my bum at its base, and wondering when was the last time I just sat and looked. I miss that healing limbo of Not Doing Anything when in fact I am doing very much as my hard edges, my rational borders soften and I, in some small way, become a part of nature of which I am a part. Of which I am apart. For that's the illusion - that I am apart. Sitting and breathing and being restores a little reality to the unreality of life.
Other random thoughts - while I try not to dwell on the slow but steady disintegration of Richard's cognitive abilities - often it's pretty brutal. Today. Lunch. Him with fork tines turned down onto his stable table asking why it isn't running? 'What isn't running?' This, he says, stabbing the leaf pattern plastic top. A minute before he'd been trying to butter the screw top of the Season All jar. Yesterday afternoon, prior to our towing the wheelie bins to the curb (at least it's all downhill!), he talked about us dragging them up again. 'But they have to be emptied first,' I said. When that didn't make sense, explained in detail how the big trucks would come in the morning to empty the bins and we would pick them up again and put them in the truck after. Something we've been doing for 3 years. I've found soiled underwear hidden in empty drawers, soiled jeans under shelves and he has this thing about socks. Socks on the nightstand, socks on the fireplace, socks on the couch, socks multiplying like rabbits.
We go through periods where toileting issues are not an issue, then a long dismal run where they are. I am getting better at just getting through it and moving on. Sometimes it takes a herculearn effort to let it go when it seems so obvious (to me) that faeces should not be found on the shower wall or shower floor, the outside of the toilet, on hand towels, under nails, on door handles.
I briefly joined a FB group for dementia support but quickly unjoined. Too awful. A technicolour description of where we're headed. I've got enough on my plate now, thanks, without depressing myself further.
Beyond the practicalities of everyday, occasionally, seeing a photograph of Richard before I am overcome with sadness. One thing I did read on that support group, having to grieve for the loss of someone while they're still alive, or words to that effect. Too true.
Saw a woman in the checkout queque, snapping at her obviously demented husband because he was too slow and he didn't 'get it'. And I wanted to say to her, I understand but you must remember, he can't help it. Richard can't help it. Can do nothing about his confusion, his loss of words, his loss of meaning and meaningfulness. So I must help him as best I can; love him, slow down, be patient, support him. Two cards I've drawn have been of help. One said, Trust in the Path. Okay. I can Trust in the Path. The other said, ask and you shall receive. So I have asked for serenity. If I can remain serene - it's gravy! I have everything else. One of the luckiest most blessed people I know so just trust and get through each day with grace and love. That's all.
