Start Your Engines

We are on the move again. For about two weeks now, Gregory has not been able to smoothly begin his morning routines. As you know, I am not my best in the morning so this has been difficult for me.

From now on, I think we are at the point that I need to "walk" him through the morning activities: take off your sleep clothes, turn on the heat, set up your shaver, shave, clean and put your shaver away, put on your underclothes, put on your sweats, begin your day. By accepting this responsibility (which I really don't want to do and probably resent) I will make his and my life easier. Let me explain the "less than saintly" way I handled it this morning.

This morning when I suggested that it was time to begin the day, he got out of bed and hung around the bed lifting and lowering his sleep shirt with an inquisitive look on his face. "Go in the bathroom and shave," I prompted. I think he wakes up and is disoriented about where he is, who he is, and what he should be doing.

I must have drifted back to sleep, which I sometimes do while he is shaving, because next thing I knew, he came to me for help. He had gotten out of his sleep clothes, had not begun shaving, and was trying to get his sweat shirt on starting with putting his arms into the sleeves from the outside. Can you picture this? I won't bother even trying to describe, just believe me.

I helped him off with the shirt and asked, "Do you NOT know how to begin the day?" Fatal mistake on my part number one, when will I learn? He couldn't answer and became frustrated instead. When will I learn? I think I would do OK if he could say, "No Michael I do not know how to do this today." Then I would help but instead he closes down and I fume. Why was I waiting for an answer and why did I think he would be able to communicate with me?

By now I am just short of raging. But I control myself. So what do I do? Did I mention that I am not good in the morning? I made him get back into his sleep clothes, get back into bed, and we started over from the beginning. I never did say I was perfect! He probably had no idea what I was doing but it kept me under control so it must have been good.

I walked him through the beginning of the morning activities, probably not in the nicest tone of voice, did I say I am not good in the morning?

As we went through each step he behaved as though he knew what he was doing from the beginning leaving me numb and wondering what I had just spent my last half hour doing. For some reason when I trigger the memory he thinks he has always been acting on that memory and for some reason that makes me angrier then having had to help him through it in the first place.

You see I am still normal but he is the new normal and most often I find it hard to live in his crazy world. I use the word crazy loosely if only because Gregory is NOT crazy, but sometimes I think I am when I am trying to operate in his world.

Why The Anger?

Lately I have been feeling so angry. So angry. Why?

I have a choice about how I choose to feel. Why do I choose anger?

Would I feel like this, if I had one, towards my 3 year old son?

Would I feel like this towards my mother on her death bed?


I think the anger comes from trying to live in his world and to live in mine as well.

His gets more out of order, more out of kilter,  his life crazier and crazier each day.

And while I think I can deal with a certain amount of life's disarray and disorder,

The kilter and crazy get me, I don't know how to be out of balance and crazy.


I am angry because there is nothing I can do to change the course of our life.

I am angry because even when I come up with a new scheme that works

Eventually it peters out and dies while I have to continue living, dealing, and coping.

I am unhappy and angry as I watch the person I love the most dissolve and evaporate.


I cannot begin to tell you how I feel, I can only tell you I want to run and hide

Knowing there is nowhere to run or hide, my emotions, our life will be there.

Its like having a world of sorrow surrounding you, slowly cutting off your air supply,

And not knowing how to breath the precious little bit of oxygen that is still available.


I feel like the captain going down with his ship, standing on the bridge until the end.

I feel like the firemen rushing up into the World Trade Towers never to come down.

I feel like a child trying to understand his pet's death, yet not understanding death itself.

I feel like I am slowly twisting the knife of my own death yet not wanting to die.


If he was blind I could guide him, read to him, describe a field of spring flowers.

If he was lame I could push his chair, brings things to him, bring him to things.

If he was cancerous I could hold him, sooth him, sing to him, help him to die.

But he has Alzheimer's, I have no such comforts, only hoping I am doing my best.