This week has been a wild ride. Jack’s case manager came on Monday for her six-month check in and paper signing; and she noticed right away how much Jack had changed. I had been seeing changes myself for a couple of weeks; but my mind didn’t want to acknowledge what my heart already knew. I was rolling with the changes and coping as best I could.

Sarah’s reaction was short and to the point. “He’s gotten a lot worse, hasn’t he? I noticed it right away.” she said, after Jack had scribbled on the forms and the two of us had gone outside to chat. Her words felt like a punch in the gut. I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “What’s been going on?”

I told her, talking fast to keep the tears at bay. I described the new challenges recognizing objects, the declining comprehension, the confusion with using silverware and eating, the new inability to bathe on his own. I explained about shaving him, cutting his hair, trimming his nails, getting him dressed, taking a shower with him. “And you weren’t doing that six months ago.” she said. “He’s really gone downhill fast.”

That day I hit my lowest point. I could no longer block out what my heart had been telling me. Until then, I’d been trying to rationalize things away, because I felt like I couldn’t face him getting worse. Hearing Sarah’s words made the changes real.

“I’m going to call Karen as soon as I get back to the office.” Sarah said, as she got into her car. “Ordinarily we wouldn’t ask for an hour change until his re-evaluation next March, but it’s clear there have been some significant changes. I’ll see if we can get someone out every day.”

We said goodbye and I went to work with a heavy heart. My life had officially changed, and all I wanted to do was hide somewhere and cry.

I still want to cry. Not just for the life we were supposed to have together, but also for Jack and all the losses he endures. His abilities are crumbling bit by bit, and he has to live with that. But I am grateful that most of the time he doesn’t realize anything is wrong.

I am also grateful, and amazed, that I can still be thankful. Even through this heavy grief, I can still see blessings. I can look at the day and marvel at its beauty; I can be excited about my job; I can plan for a future when Jack isn’t here. I watch myself moving forward, despite the part of me that wants to crumble in my tracks and quit; and I realize my strength more clearly. This deeper part of me knows that I will be just fine.

I still cry. Part of my own healing is allowing myself to grieve. I have never given myself this gift; and my acceptance of it comes slowly. But honoring where I am is caring for me. That I am learning this in the midst of mourning amazes me.