I am trying to think the unthinkable: Is it time for me to move my husband from our home into a memory facility?
I can’t describe the pain of considering what day he will stop living here, my husband of 51 years. He’s always been here. How will I choose a day, put him into the car, and drive him to his new home? How will I leave there and come back home?
He doesn’t know what I’m considering, that I’ve visited facilities and stood there in the hallway trying to picture him living there. Eating there. Sleeping there. Confused, lost, wanting to go home. Maybe not comfortable with those people.
I watch him in the kitchen, and I think he won’t be here foraging in the refrigerator for ice cream. I see him in the yard picking up leaves and twigs, and I think I’ll never look out the window and see him there.
I slip into my side of the bed and think, how will I do this alone? And I can’t sleep. The tears come as I try to imagine how he won’t understand.
And I doubt and doubt. Would he be better off there with people and activities? Could he be happier without Emma and me? What will happen to him?
This is too hard to bear.