Today hasn’t been fun. The Wi-Fi installation was held up by an inaccuracy in the company records, which said that someone else was already using it. I bought extra data for my phone so I could do my class, only to realize that said class began at 2:00 East Coast Time, not 2:00 WEST Coast Time. I logged on at 2:00 West Coast time and couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t happening. All I can say is DUH.

But it’s been that kind of a day. I woke up with a cold this morning, and I’ve been achy, tired and cranky. Which means my normally legendary patience…isn’t. Which means Jack’s dementia has gotten on my nerves. Which is not his fault. But it hasn’t helped that he’s asked me, “Are you still sick?” almost every hour. He doesn’t understand why a cold won’t disappear even though he wants it to.

I managed to stay calm through the morning, although Jack’s paranoia was in full force. (He insisted that the reason we couldn’t get the Wi-Fi was because “those people over there” were stealing it). I held my tongue when he gave me the attitude for being sick. I even stayed quiet when he said, “If you’re going to be lazy, you can get up and do the dishes.” But at lunchtime, as I was putting the meal together, I tripped over his feet and almost fell on my face. And an entire morning’s stifled impatience exploded in a roar.

“Would you get your f—ing feet out of the aisle?” I barked. Yep. I actually said the ‘f’ word. And there was no way to take it back.

Jack looked hurt. He got up, limped over to the bed, sat on it and sulked. “Leave me alone.” he said. “I’m going to go live somewhere else.”

“Go ahead. You won’t get taken care of the way I take care of you.” I retorted. I heard myself saying the words and was shocked. This is not how I normally talk to Jack. But I couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

I took a huge, deep breath. I said a prayer. I asked God to help me stay patient. I stayed quiet for fifteen minutes as I finished fixing lunch.

Then I went to Jack, who was still sitting on the bed and rubbing his foot. I hugged him. He leaned his head into my chest. I kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry darling.” I told him. “I won’t do that again.”

Jack looked up at me, puzzled. “Do what?” he asked.

It was one of the rare times I was grateful he had dementia.