When Dad died, Mom had to re-familiarize herself with some of life’s basic skills. One of which was driving. Over the years, Dad subtly took over the task of driving and chauffeured Mom whereever she had to go. If she was going in to the church for choir practice, he’d say he needed to check something on the furnace and then putter around the building until she was ready to leave.

She thought he was being over protective because he realized they both were getting older. Since she’d already had a bout with cancer and her hearing was not the best, he just silently took over tasks to keep her safe.

Ironically, he was the one who collapsed and died. All of his precautions were for naught and she was left to drive again, only now she was out of practice.

I see Jim and I doing similar things to/for each other. As Jim’s dementia progressed, I subtly took over driving in an attempt to wean him from behind the steering wheel before we had to take away his license. I turn the TV down when he takes a shower so I can hear if he falls and secretly check on him whenever I hear a thump. Even if I’m certain he’s just dropped the shampoo bottle again.

He does the same to me which is as frustrating as it is sweet. I shifted on the couch the other day and I must have groaned or sighed while doing so. He whipped around in his chair at the dining room table, “Are you okay, Babe?”

“Yeah, Sweetheart, I just switched butt cheeks.”

If I cough and he comes to make sure I’m fine. If I roll over at night and he wakes to ensure I’m all right.

Like Dad, he senses that his functionality is diminishing and he understands how big my role is in looking after him and thus overcompensates to make sure he doesn’t lose me.

As I said it’s sweet and I appreciate his caring ways but I’ve also gone into full Type A caregiver mode and it’s frustrating because I’m the one looking after him, he is no longer the one looking after me. I appreciate his stubbornness. In the long run, it will exercise his brain and help keep him healthier. He’s not going down without a fight. He often quotes, “Faint of heart never won fair lady.”

I’m relieved he hasn’t given up but some days it feels like I’m wrangling a toddler, his attempts at independence aren’t helpful. (And yes, in six months, I’ll be heart broken when he’s no longer able to worry about me and I’ll miss these moments)