Hairy Monster.

Buddies.

It is getting close. I am on the seesaw of wanting her out of pain, and not wanting to be alone. How I live for those moments when she comes up and says "Hi". 

Monday

I checked in with her, and she was her sleepy self. Her eyes were dull, and she wasn't real happy to see me, as a matter of fact, she didn't know where she was, or who I was. 

I ask her that question all the time now, "Do you know who I am?" For I am still waiting for the chance she might just make it to her conscious self to know me one more time.

I like to find examples of how I feel, so that maybe you can better understand what it is I'm trying to say. 

In the movie "Coco" the father who is going to disappear because his daughter is dying. His hoping that he could see her "..one last time." That feeling of lose, that feeling of anguish, is how I feel. Just to have Sweetie awake, bright eyed, telling me on more time "I love you." Is that too much to ask?

The nurse came for her visit, and I asked that she put in her in a catheter. So began the process. I had already changed her and replaced her pad. So, all we had to do was clean her, and put in the catheter. 

As she was cleaning her, told her that when I was potting her, I trimmed her bush. It made it easier for me to keep her clean, and at the same time, I felt it was sexy. When we were first lovers, she called it her "Hairy Monster." I suggested that she trim it, and it was like a thunderbolt, she had never thought of doing something like that. So for the next 35 years, she kept it neat and trimmed, until now. I had forgotten how much hair she had. Sorry, maybe TMI.

After we were done, and Sweetie was again relaxing, she shared with me what she thinks will happen. First, she won't get any x-rays for her hip, she isn't a candidate for surgery. Second, because of her refusing food and water, and her shallow breathing, the time is getting closer. 

I told her it would be nice if she could make it to our anniversary, in May. She doesn't think she will make it that long. 

Refusing food and water are signs of going home. 

Look, up ahead, a sign, it reads, Dementia Town city limits. We are almost at our destination. Driver knows where to go, for as of now, we are no longer speeding to Sweetie's getting off place. We will be there soon enough. As we go, Keeping Our Shiny Side Up. C'ya, Luv Ya, and God Bless. Arthur.