My time is no longer my own.
Rearranging my work schedule on a weekly basis because of Luther.
Changing jobs, stepping down as a manager so I can be closer to home. I'm no longer in charge; I've acquiesced a 16 year career.
This morning, getting up early, fighting traffic to get him to an appointment because he's given up driving long distances.
My days off will no longer be my sanctuary in my quiet little home. Since Luther's no longer working, he'll always be under foot.
Little things: last night... exhausted, falling asleep, realizing I couldn't because I needed to pull the covers up over Luther - tuck him in bed, so to speak - because he doesn't have the arm strength to do it. It was just a moment of my time, really no big deal. But I add up these moments and it becomes something larger than me.
This isn't a rant or a complaint. An observation, perhaps? I don't feel guilty for thinking these things. Guilt creeps in occasionally because, you know, death trumps all, and I think quit, ummmmm - observing! (I was going to say bitching but that felt too harsh). I realize, though, I "get" to have these feelings. I'm allowed to wonder where I fit in. I don't want to be defined as the girl with the dying boyfriend and yet, this is who I am now.
Luther is usually aware of this and works hard to give me space. I appreciate this.
Just a Monday morning, too early! Anxious about driving to the VA in traffic, big changes at work, unsettled about where I'm going next.
Ok. Time to tuck those thoughts away and get moving.