I'm looking at the shirts in Marks and Spencer's men's department. But really I'm waiting for my husband to come out of the loo. I don't want to wander too far in case he doesn't see me. I'm irritated and frustrated. We were on our way to Athena to buy a clip frame to make a collage of NZ photos and then to pick up the bed sheets I bought in John Lewis's sale this morning. At least that was my agenda. I realise that my husband has another agenda. His priority now is aways the loo.
Is there a loo here?
Where's the loo? I'm terribly sorry I have to go to the loo. Again. Guess what.....?
At home, in a shop, in a garage, in a garden, in a wood, at the beach, in a cafe, at an airport, at lunch, at anyone's house.....anywhere, anytime, all the time.
I think the loo must be a small, safe haven for him - a place of temporary respite from whatever hell he must be in.
And today I realised I can let go of my stubbornness about thinking, he doesn't really need to go to the loo....he only went minutes ago.....he can't possibly need to go again.
Of course he needs to go.
If he had a broken leg I wouldn't say, you don't really need to walk with a crutch....put your weight on it...go through the pain....
Just because you can't see a broken mind doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.....and if going to the loo relieves his pain so what if it inconveniences me, embarrasses me, irritates me beyond measure.
At the very beginning of this I remember talking to someone who's husband was a long way down the road with dementia. I said my greatest fear was that I'd stop loving mine. She said,
No, you'll find you love him more.
And maybe that's part of it ....or even all of it...finding a way to love him more - and me too...one I love you at a time...
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