My life with Jim is coming to an end.

I have such a mixed bag of emotions.

Sorrow, of course. He’s still Jim. Until today, he was still throwing out one-liners, making people around him laugh. Today, I think, the pain was becoming too much for jokes and the drugs made him too foggy.

Second guessing myself, even though I gave Jim the best care I could. Nit-picking in hindsight doesn’t do me any good. His life expectancy surpassed doctor’s estimates. They were consistently impressed at the condition of his feet and health. I was told to loosen the reins on his diet as he slid further into dementia.

Relief, for both him and I. Regular Jim would be horrified at his incompetence and incontinence. He would be devastated to think he was such a burden.

Freedom. This is a 24/7 job. Even when you take a break, the mental load is still there. I can go to a show with my mother. Hell, I can stop in to see her whenever I want to. it won’t take me half an hour to get into the car, or crawl into bed.

Guilt. His daughter and I are slowly donating items used to keep him healthy, safe and clothed. Its therapeutic, yet I feel like I’m rushing him along, even though I know nothing I do now will affect his outcome. I just don’t want to have everything still in place to deal with it alone after he passes and she goes home. It’s helping her cope with his imminent death as well.

Exhausted. This has been and will be exhausting. It will take me weeks to recover.

At least I get to recover… and there’s that guilt again