More on the Ongoing, Seemingly Never Ending Assignment for M

Photo by Emma Simpson on Unsplash

This post details events that occurred earlier this year. I am taking my time processing these events before publishing. Thank you for staying with me.

Also, this post contains several four letter words. Be advised. . .

Monday

“So what are your thoughts on the assignment with M?” I ask. “Are you telling me to do it?” Mr. J inquires. “No,” I say matter of factly. “I’m asking you what your thoughts are on the assignment.” “I just find the whole thing. . . stupid.” “Did you want to go back to working full time?” “No.” Mr. J replies. “I just want my license back.” “What do you need to do to get it back?” I ask. “I’ll find out tomorrow.” Mr. J sighs. I know what that means. It means he’s going to call the licensing board.

Color Me Not Surprised

Three days later, Mr. J has not called the licensing board. It’s as if he’s forgotten all about it

Spending

Mr. J has a part time job. Which means he has part time money. While I was out of town last week, Mr. J purchased 6 books (not on his kindle – actual books), two sets of glassware, some Shoyu, and a camera. I am worried this may signal a return to his former shopping days. The difference is that he had an actual, articulable reason for each of these purchases. Which gives me hope. Because before we’d get random packages for things like flameless candles, a laminator, and games.

Mr. J is Getting Mean Again

For each of the last three days, I have asked Mr. J to please take out the recycling. For the past three days, Mr. J has assured me that he would and then hasn’t done so. When I brought it up to him this evening, he said, “I already did.” I raised my eyebrows and gestured to the pile of recycling which is most certainly still in our living room. “I did it when you were gone.” Which, technically, is true. But an abundance of boxes, cans, and bottles have built up since then. “You’re a fun sucker,” he said, accusingly. He isn’t usually like this. I am worried about the roller coaster starting again.

And the Wall Comes Back Up!

I remember how it was before. And so, I toss up the wall I know how to construct. I am detached. I am not searching for the old Mr. J because I know he isn’t here. Will he come back again? I have no fucking idea. But, today, he is gone. Maybe he’s just in a bad mood. Or maybe he actually does have a degenerative brain disease, and he is degenerating. Who the fuck knows.

A Visit With Mr. J’s Therapist

Mr. J meets with his therapist twice a month. (Note: this is not M, his OT, but S, his personal therapist.) S keeps careful notes and begins each session asking for updates on things previously discussed. Eventually, he got around to Mr. J’s assignment with M. Mr. J rolls his eyes and says, “You know, I wrote it, but I didn’t send it to her.” “Not true,” I holler out from my position on the couch in the living room. I get up and wander across the living room to the love seat Mr. J is sitting on. “Here she comes,” Mr. J says dramatically.

“I did write it,” Mr. J says. “Yeah. He wrote it all right. Tenth grade level. Dashed off in 20 minutes. No details. No facts. No citing to the file.” “Yes, I did,” Mr. J says. “Didn’t I show you that?” “No,” I respond. “You didn’t.”

Mr. J returns his focus to S. “I did write it. It just needs a few updates. I want Anne to read it and then I’ll send it to M.” S again stresses the importance of follow through if Mr. J wants consideration of a new diagnosis. Mr. J agrees. “I’ll do it today after work.” It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this that after work, Mr. J did not, in fact, “do it after work.”

A New Perspective

That took place on Wednesday. The following Sunday, as I was walking, I had a phone conversation with my friend P. Among the many things we discussed was my frustration with Mr. J and his complete lack of action on the task at hand. “He hasn’t done anything!” I exclaim. My frustration is clear. My friend P sits in silence for a minute. I know she is thinking, so I sit with the silence along side her. “Maybe,” P says, “He is doing something. Maybe he is thinking in his head that he knows he can’t do it. And it is such a simple task. But he knows he can’t do it, and now he’s thinking about that.” More silence as I process this.

I remember in the early days, when I had more contact with other spouses dealing with this, their expressions of happiness once their spouse was no longer aware of what they weren’t capable of. For the first time, I understand this. I continue walking, pain in my chest, sobs welling up in my throat, tears in my eyes. P is also quite comfortable with silence and she waits. I process. She waits some more. “I hadn’t thought of that,” I say softly. “Sorry,” P says. “Me, too.” I reply. I shake myself the way my Great Danes shake themselves. I shake off the fear, the sadness, and the anxiety. Well, most of it. I keep walking.

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