If I sit beside Jim while he’s napping, he’s content. If I move to a different part of the house, he comes searching. It’s like he has a proximity beacon that alerts him when I’m more than five feet away, making it impossible for me to have a few minutes to myself for a breather or to get anything done upstairs (which is still an unpacked disaster since our move three months ago)

This in turn makes me feel trapped. I have a friend coming to visit from out of town for a few hours tomorrow. There was stuff I wanted to do today and couldn’t because Jim was always underfoot. Plus, his anxiety was climbing because he felt useless because there wasn’t anything he could do to help.

This is just another straw stacking upon the back of this particular camel. The load is heavy and smothers any spark of motivation to get things done. The pile of items I was finally sorting had been sitting there since the end of April.

I have to remind myself of the big picture.

I recognize this aspect of our relationship will continue to get worse as dementia soldiers on. I have to prepare for more inability and subsequent clinginess as we move forward. Despite me feeling smothered, this truly is one of the best case scenarios.

My once ferociously independent husband can’t even remember where the bathroom is, which could make him constantly angry and frustrated. Instead he’s meek and appreciates all that I do for him.