Four More Months

Here we are, four months after I last wrote in these pages.  Four more months of trying to do what is best for Carol.  Four more months of teleworking.  Four more months of trying to stay sane.  Four more months of keeping our cats alive.  Four more months of frustration.  Four more months of fatigue.  Four more months of telling her not to turn on every light in the house because electricity isn’t free.  Four more months of telling her to keep the cats inside because they’ve been indoor cats all their lives.  Four more months of getting her to take her pills, sometimes successfully.  Four more months of imaginary people outside.  Four more months of her having conversations with the mirror.  Four more months of “put your seatbelt on.”  Four more months of keeping the front door closed.  Four more months of worrying about whether she'll fall down the stairs.  Four more months of emptying the half-full soda cans.  Four more months of saying "finish that before you open another one." Four more months of disappearing toilet paper.  Four more months of telling her "those towels are for drying off after showering, not cat blankets."  Four more months of telling her “that’s your son Greg upstairs.”  Four more months of “your mother isn’t dead, she’s fine.”  Four more months of trying to get to the mail first so she doesn’t hide it.  Four more months of telling her how to use a telephone and then getting bitched at when I do.  Four more months of “you need to see your doctor.”  Four more months of rescheduling doctor’s visits because she won’t go.  Four more months of "I'm fine" when I am probably anything but "fine."  Four more months of wondering "will this be the day she snaps?"  Four more months of being “the warden.”  Four more months of doing damn near everything.  Four more months of being wrong no matter what I do.

I have to keep telling myself “this is what you signed up for – for better or worse, in sickness and in health”…