When Richard and the dog are both snoring it’s just me and iTunes, lonesome music in a crowded bed, thoughts of the future pester my brain and rob me of sleep.
It’s dangerous to look ahead.
I suppose it’s just my mind doing its best to prepare me for the almost certain future in which I will be, if not alone, without my best friend, whose fitful sleep and troubled dreams populate my nights.
The tapestry of our lives unravels and soon the picture will surely go. Where? Away.
I need no disturbance to keep my eyes open wide staring into the dark. I see the thing approaching. The writing’s on the wall. I don’t need a Daniel to decipher for me.
My days are filled with it, as his brain declines and his world falls apart. It breaks my heart.
Frantic days, I become an easy mark for the latest “alternative” remedy. All the money I’ve thrown at my hopeless hope! Daily he is less and less here.
In the snoring hours, I grieve. My sorrow tastes like lead, as heavy, as dead. I hate Alzheimer’s. And my fast-approaching empty bed.