As a caregiver to someone who is ill or disabled or to a child
who has developmental difficulties, this sentence is illuminating and
descriptive. Having never pictured my existence these past six years in this
way, I nevertheless understand anew my myopia, my denial of the gravity of my
husband’s illness and my determination to keep him as healthy and as
independent as possible for as long as I could. As a child therapist, I admired
the families of autistic spectrum disordered children, ADD kids, physically
challenged children who devoted their entire lives to the wellbeing of their
child.
When the physicians at the psychiatric hospital convinced me
that my husband’s safety and mine could not be assured if he remained at home,
a path opened for me to see a way out of this particular forest. I have to come
to grips with my failure to succeed in the impossible goal I had set, I have to
accept the grim reality of my husband’s constant and continual loss of skills,
cognitive, self-care and now immediate short term memory skills, and I have to
understand that although he is no longer violent or aggressive, he is so dependent and in need of such constant attention that I still cannot take him home
where both he and I want him to be.
What an important, humbling insight. Who would we be without books?!
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