Enjoy the silence

H has been gone for over a week now, although he calls me at least once a day. I've been off work for over a week too now. I love being a hermit.

It's very strange to have this house to myself…this house that I've shared with H for so many years. I like the silence and the lack of responsibility. I like being able to sleep so long in the king size bed without having to share the covers or wear ear plugs so I don't hear his C-pap machine.

I've been disoriented by the lack of structure recently. I don’t have to be anywhere, I don't have to talk to anyone. There is nothing that really has to be done. If I were somewhere else, I'd call this a vacation.

I've talked with H just a few times since he's been gone, even tho' he's called several times a day (I am so thankful to whoever invented Caller ID ). He hasn't asked me any questions about how I'm doing or how I'm feeling, just what I'm doing.

"Where were you yesterday?," he asked me. "I called many times." "I must have been in the garden, outside," I say, knowing that he didn't call me yesterday.

H tells me that he's bored, "They all have to work. I miss all the things that I get to do at home."

I don't care that he misses home, but I don't tell him so.

There is odd silence in my head as well. I don't hear so much of my anger, my resentment driven by the things that H has said when I've told him that I can't deal anymore:

At least I'm not in the hospital right now.
You've always been depressed and stressed and angry.
I'm not that sick…you're just trying to get rid of me.

I don't blame him for his anger, but I'm tired of having my experience so discounted. The sad truth is that this is not H, not the man that I have known for so long, but the dementia talking through his own fear and denial.

This time apart and this time off of work is to help me catch my breath for the next run up the hill. I hope that this will be the last run I make up this hill.