I wish it would rain

I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling his hands searching frantically. His face is shadowed by a mask of such profound worry. I turn to him and see the beginnings of relief in his eyes, but the hands continue to flutter and clutch. He can’t tell me what’s wrong easily, but I hug him and kiss him and tell him that he’s my world. I see hope begin to blossom on his sweet face. I tell him that I will always be by his side. I tell him that I will never abandon him. I see the dawn of belief, and I pull him to me. I shush him like a baby and rub his head. Don’t worry my love. I’ve got you and you’re safe. He falls asleep to my calming words.

I wish it would rain.

An old friend comes to our island and she reaches out. She invites us to join her and her husband for a fun day on their boat. She doesn’t know that the tears I can’t afford to release, spring to my eyes, blurring the words as I tell her how happy I am that we’re invited, but it’s a bit more than we can manage these days. I finish my reply and jump up to go to the bathroom. I return to Bruce and he lights up. He whispers as I climb into bed next to him, “ I Loooooooovve yooooooouuuu”. 

I wish it would rain.

He wakes up and gets out of bed. I ask him where he’s going. Pee.  I turn on the bathroom light and he goes in. He comes back out looking confused. I get up to help him. He doesn’t know if he needs to sit or stand. He doesn’t know what he needs to do. I help him get into position to pee and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It’s up to me to aim, or it’s going everywhere. He struggles and finally it comes. I pull his undies up and he turns toward the sink, with one hand on his bottom. I think maybe I’ve got things maladjusted and I reach over to help.  And then I realize that he has a load of poop in his undies. He has no idea. 

Without pause, and with a reassuring smile, I whisk him into the shower. Undies in the trash. I dry him off as his hands try to clutch at the towel and I see that his eyes are locked on my face with a look of such tenderness, I know that he’s still in there. He says “ I love you”. I tell him I love him too, give him a quick kiss and I get him dressed. 

My mind is electric as I feel warring factions battling it out over control of my face. I want to crawl back into bed and stay there. I wish I had ice cream in the house. Frantic to do something to keep from spiraling. I choose to get us out of the house to clear my head. We go on a quick shopping trip to get Bruce some shorts that are easy to remove. I lead him by the hand, and he’s happy to be anywhere that I am. And I feel the same. 

Back home, and I wish it would rain.

Every day. Many times per day. Little tragedies threaten to expose my secret. 

He doesn’t know how to put a pill into his mouth. 

He doesn’t know which part of the cup to drink from. 

He forgets how to swallow (terrifying)

He doesn’t know where his clothes are. 

Where to put his hands when putting on a shirt, 

How to lift one foot and step into his shorts, 

He watches me while I eat breakfast to see what he’s supposed to do, 

He cannot make a choice, no matter how basic. 

Interspersed amongst those tragedies are the little wins. 

He knows where his shoes are and can put them on. 

He knows we take out the trash and lock the door before bed. (We don’t really lock the door anymore, it’s automatic, but he remembers)

He knows my name, most of the time, and he tells me he loves me a hundred times a day. 

He wants to help. He wants to pull his weight. 

He wants to make me happy and he is devastated if I should ever let him see a tear slide down my cheek.

Damn, I wish it would rain.