silver ware (Photo credit: agavegirl13)
This won’t be long. I just have to get it off my shoulders. I can’t go over and do it for him. He is already upset. He is cussing and he is yelling at me because he thinks he is a five-year old. I am finding this to happen more and more. Each time I offer my help and tell him I understand, I am lying. How could I understand? Unless, I have the same thing, I could have no idea what he is going through. I have tried taking my arm, and tightening it up, and shaking it as fast as I can, but in a matter of seconds, my arm will start to hurt and ache from the tightness. Now he is coughing. Coughing on his drink. He is trying to tell me something while he is struggling to drink his juice. I bought him weighted silver ware, about a month ago, and this seemed to be a miracle in itself. Sometimes I would see the fork or spoon tumbling to the floor, because it would fall out of his hands, but I would just smile at him, and tell him, it is no problem. I will pick it up and wash it off and he can have it back. The arm has become immune to this new weighted item that he holds. It wants and needs more. It is showing its teeth, snarling that nothing I could ever do would begin to beat it down. I feel like it is Satan staring me in the face, and laughing deep from his ugly soul, knowing that I am the loser in this game. We ate out for lunch out today, since we had to pick up medicines. Yes, at his favorite restaurant. While he was eating, his nose was less than two inches from his plate. I wanted to cry out to him, to hold his head up, sit up straight. Tell him that he knows better, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My job at that moment was just to make sure he stayed safe. We ordered dessert for him, and they brought it before the meal, and he gobbled the dessert first, like he had never had that type of sweetness touch his mouth. I almost said something about didn’t he remember that we save our desserts for after our meal? Again, I said nothing. For supper I was not hungry yet, and he is on his schedule, whether he is hungry or not. I gave him a simple, filling meal with applesauce for dessert. He always takes his medications from a cup. Tonite he could not get the cup up far enough in the air to force the pills to fall downwards into his mouth. He is cussing at the pills. Saying they want to stick in the cup and make a fool of him. I did suggest he place the pills in his hand or that I could help him. He ended up placing them in his hands and did manage to swallow them. Food that I gave him, continued to slide on to the table, some hitting the floor. He is yelling at me, I am five years old. I don’t deserve to eat. Maybe this Parkinson’s should just kill me right now so I don’t starve. I offer to help feed him, and this was a big NO. He is finished now. Has left the table to brush his teeth. I get up and start cleaning the table and floor.
Who I am 