Transitions. (Alzheimer's & Hospice.)

(This is an adaptation of something I posted at Communion of Dreams a couple of days ago.  For those who may not have seen my other posts about caring for my Mother-in-Law for the past five years, she passed away on Feb. 6th.  This is something of a follow-up to that series.  I am tentatively planning on adapting those diaries into a book about the experience, in no small part due to the response I received here at dKos.  Yes, you guys helped - and you have my gratitude.

Another note - following my MIL's death and the subsequent memorial service a couple of days later, my wife and I both collapsed from exhaustion and then came down with the nasty flu bug going around.  We were both basically in bed for the next two weeks, only emerging back into the daylight last weekend, and starting to pick up the pieces of our life.)

Last night, my wife washed off the blackboard which hangs in the kitchen.

* * * * * * *

I just got back from a quick trip to KC to pick up the first large load of books from the seminary.   Simple.  Got up this morning, usual routine, jumped in the car and drove to KC.  Met with the client.  Selected about 60 volumes to start with, wrapped them in cling film, boxed 'em up.  Put the boxes in the car, drove home, pausing to check out a new store just off the highway - and amazing myself that I didn't have to call home to coordinate the slight delay.

* * * * * * *

I sent this note to a friend:

Mostly I've been getting work done, at least in  the afternoons.  Feels good to be able to focus in and do it - a nice  affirmation, and there is that joy that comes with doing something well  which most people can't do.  Still struggling to shake off the last  effects of the flu, which is annoying, but there is clear progress.

And that has been the real change this week.  Each afternoon I've been able to just dive in and work.  For hours.  Very productively.  Such a change.

* * * * * * *

It's the little things.   Yes, there are the larger changes: more sleep, no need to go around always listening to a monitor, being able to come and go as I please.  Those I expected, even if they have taken some adjustment.  But it's the little things that catch you unprepared.

Last night, my wife washed off the blackboard which hangs in the kitchen.

The blackboard which for years had our contact phone numbers on it.  Those were first put there by Martha Sr. years ago, when her memory was becoming undependable and she might need to call someone for help.  Then they remained even once we moved in here, since both my wife and I still had our jobs elsewhere during the day.  After I closed my gallery and moved home that was no longer the need, but by then they were an institution.  More recently, long after Martha Sr had stopped using the phone, the numbers were there as a quick resource for the various respite care workers and whatnot, in the event of an emergency.

Last night, my wife washed it clean.  It was time to move on.

* * * * * * *

Jim Downey