Jack has started shadowing me. Although it can happen any time, this behavior usually shows up in the later stages of dementia. It is both predictable and frustrating. I am having a hard time adjusting.

Jack never lets me out of his sight. He has to know where I am every single minute. He refuses to leave the trailer unless I’m with him. I can’t even go to the bathroom without him asking me where I am and what I’m doing.

If Jack can’t see me, he panics. If I’m out working, he will come out and find me. If I’m off the property for any reason, he comes completely unglued. He thinks I’ve left him and I’m not coming back.

It doesn’t matter if I’ve just gone to the bank, which is an eight minute walk down the road. It doesn’t matter if I’ve left him a note saying where I’ve gone and when I’ll be back. All he knows is, I’ve left him. And he needs to find me RIGHT NOW.

Jack’s shadowing has changed everything. Before it started, he went shopping with Tim almost every week. I had several quiet hours to put my music on and clean the trailer. I had time to breathe. It was precious time, even if I spent most of it cleaning. I looked forward to it every week.

Now Jack won’t shop without me. My cleaning time is spent shopping. After a day of shopping, making sure Jack doesn’t wander off, having lunch, coming home and putting all the groceries away, I am too tired to clean. So I put it off.

And I keep putting it off, because when there is no shopping to do, Jack won’t leave the trailer unless I go with him. Which means he and Tim sit and watch movies all day. They hang out in the trailer while I’m working (unless Jack insists on knowing where I am). Since we are in the rainy season, they stay in a lot.

This all but guarantees I can’t do anything, because I can’t clean a trailer with two large men underfoot. I can barely make lunch. I can’t boot them out into the rain, much as I would like to, because I wouldn’t be going with them. And Jack won’t go without me.

So I put off the cleaning until it’s just us. But then, Jack needs his weekly bath. Or he has a bad bathroom day and needs cleaning, changing and a bath. Sometimes the cleaning, etc. happens more than once, if he has diarrhea. Then I have to do a laundry run too.

Jack needs to be fed. He needs to be dressed. He needs to be kept busy. He needs me to sit and listen (or redirect him) when the delusions take over. He needs me for everything. He needs, God help me, to know where I am every single minute. Which means he will follow me around this tiny trailer, and—you guessed it—I can’t get anything done.

His dementia has reached a point where he has to come first. I have no choice in that.

Jack’s shadowing is a challenge. Every time I go somewhere, he gets anxious. If he’s not reassured, he gets paranoid. Then he thinks I don’t love him any more. He asks me what he did wrong. He begs me not to leave again. Sometimes he cries because I left him. He doesn’t remember that I always come back.

But Jack is also loving. Shadowing has brought out a sweetness I’ve never seen. He gives me hugs. He kisses me. He tells me how much I mean to him. He asks after my well being so often that it almost drives me nuts. He worries constantly about me. He wants to watch over me twenty four hours a day so I don’t get hurt or sick.

I understand the shadowing. I know why he needs me there. I am the anchor in his crumbling world. I am his safety net. I give him everything he needs: food, baths, safety, acceptance, love. I understand him (or I try to). I am his everything, the one he depends on.

But I can’t stand the shadowing, sometimes. I am worn thin, exhausted, in need of space. I go to the beach for an hour, only to have Jack show up with Tim because he “had to be with” me. Tim has to bring him. Jack panics if he doesn’t.

I want the shadowing to end. I look forward to that day, because I will have some semblance of a life. But I also dread that day, because I know that when it comes, Jack will no longer care if I’m there or not. I want him to care. At least for now.