Worst Day Yet

This morning has been a shocking first, and the worst so far. Bruce had a bad night, waking all hours, worried about everything. Usually I can tell him stories and he calms, but it did not seem to be working. It seemed like any mention of his family made him sad. At about 6:30 am, he saw a picture of his siblings on the photo frame by his bed. It was the one with all the siblings together while on a family outing to a small airport.

He flew into a howling rage. Bruce has only barely raised his voice in the years I've known him. I tried talking softly and telling him I love him, but he looked at me with an expression I’ve never seen before other than on a snarling guard dog as it leapt at the fence. He clenched his hands into fists and shook them, gritting his teeth, saying something about family.

He walked around our room, searching for something. He mumbled that he didn’t know where I put it, but couldn’t tell me what it was. He kept saying the F word and walking around, waving his arms at all the things in our room. He asked about the photos on our bedroom walls. He didn’t know where he was, and just kept telling me to get away from him.

More than once during this episode, fear flickered through my mind. I have never before considered that he would harm me. I took several steps back when he turned those hard eyes on me. I could totally imagine him now, sweeping everything off a countertop, or backhanding me. But he did not. He held it inside and trembled with rage.

I have no idea how I held it together, but I just kept searching in my mind for advice I’ve read for what to do in this situation.

Meet him where he is.

I gave him space. I tried to interest him in vow renewal videos. Didn't work, tried a couple of other happy memories, gave up. Pictures of his family enraged him anew. He clenched so hard, then looked like he was crying in anguish. I couldn’t reach him, and the look of derision in his eyes nearly broke me.

Bruce has lost his three older brothers in the past couple of years. He never flinched at the news of their deaths. He never really acknowledged it. Maybe his mind has just allowed that realization, and all the anguish that losing his older siblings was supposed to have caused, is now coming crashing down on him.

Trying for a diversion, I opened the shades. He came closer and looked outside. I asked if he wanted to put on pants and go outside. He took the pants, but struggled with them. I offered help and he spat “Don’t touch me!”.

He was blaming me for something, but I could not understand what it was, so I just apologized. I told him that I was so sorry, and that I didn’t mean to do it, and to please tell me how I could make it up to him. He just shook his head and scoffed. Every time I told him I love him, he shook his head like it was BS.

He finally allowed me to help with the pants, and I started walking toward the stairs. He paced the bedroom some more, snarling F*%k! I waited. He shuffled toward the stairs, but would not take my hand for support. About halfway down, he grudgingly accepted my hand. He found his shoes and put them on. I gave him a hat, and took his walker out the back door. He followed.

He stood on the sidewalk looking around at the courtyard as if seeing it for the first time. He accepted the walker handles and I helped guide him along the sidewalk. I could see that his anger was beginning to thaw. We stopped in the clubhouse to look out at the Caribbean, but he wasn’t ready to sit down like we usually do. He was still struggling with something, but his glances at me were now more full of resignation than anger.

I followed his lead as we went back out into the courtyard, this time in the shade, with a slight breeze. It is truly a beautiful day. We approached the path to our condo and he seemed to know where to go. He was ready to go back inside.

Once inside, he was still restless, so I asked him if he wanted to go out the front door, and he agreed, actually showing interest. He stopped right outside the front door and raised his face to look around him, and he said

“I should be happy.”

We walked along on the sidewalk, more quickly than usual, and without the walker. We made it all the way to the gate before I suggested that it was beginning to be hot, so maybe we should walk in the shade. He asked me something, gesturing to the area around us. Having no idea what he was asking, I explained that this was our condo property, and next door there were others. I pointed back toward the beach and told him that way was the Sea, to which he replied “I know”.

He began to walk back along the sidewalk to our door. Once inside, he drifted while I made our breakfast. During that time, his anger seemed to melt away, and while he no longer seemed angry, confused or frightened, he was more mystified. He was once again dependent upon me for his every move.

The stairs confused him, but we made it back up to bed with our breakfast tray. He agreeably crawled into bed and seemed to enjoy the apple oatmeal we shared. He took his pills, and finished his water. I asked him if he needed to go to the toilet, and he agreed. But once there, he didn’t need to go. He was just agreeable to try if I suggested it.

Back in bed, he closed his eyes and dozed for about ten minutes. Now he is awake, and is calm and sweet like nothing ever happened. Today was the first time I have experienced any real doubt that I could handle this. Every moment of every day is an invitation to chaos. I have zero control, or advanced knowledge of what will happen in the next hour, or the the one after that. Nights alternate between sleeping one night, and the next he's awake and despondent while I try to ease his mind. I'm heartbroken. I'm scared. I'm so weary, yet desperately afraid that this signals the beginning of the end stages. Trying to be thankful for the support of some wonderful ladies I have met in a caregiver support group, and keeping my shit together are about all I can do.