My aunt is losing her mind. The funny part is…I now prefer her to the rest of the family.
When others visibly cringe at her comments, I cheer inside. (And laugh on the outside!) After all, my cousin does resemble a two dollar hooker since she dyed her hair. And my mother really does look like she could’ve eaten her last husband this past year. And come on…anyone would see that baby did have a HUGE head so maybe her alien remark was not too far off base.
All I’m saying is…her observations have grown more astute.
And really, who cares if she refuses to wash her hair. She can put on a nice hat to go grocery shopping.
And if she refuses to cook, I say “Everyone eat your lean cuisine and stop complaining. Don’t you know there are starving people in Michigan who sold their homes for the cost of your ramen noodles?”
Aunt Vera does what she feels like doing; she says what she wants to say. Essentially, she is who she wants to be. And for this they say she has dementia? No doubt we could all use a little bit of dementia in our lives then.
I spoke with her husband last night. He has been dealing with her “dementia” now for over a year. He was frazzled and fed up. He lamented his lost feelings for the woman he had been married to for over 30 years. He complained that he had to remind her to bathe and clean the house, and then he went on to say that she could no longer bring money into their home.
My first instinct was to give him all the understanding befitting one who is dealing with his situation. I know he did not ask for this, and he has sole responsibility for her health and well-being, which at times may feel like a huge burden.
But then…The Superbitch in me came out, and she was not happy with his selfish appraisal of the whole situation.
After all, did my Aunt ask to be in this position any more than he did? Isn’t a breakdown of the mind similar to the breakdown we are experiencing with our bodies? If the situation were reversed, wouldn’t he wish to be taken care of by the person he trusts most in the world? And wait…didn’t she marry him when she was a stunning beauty and he had very large ears and not a dime to his name?
And then came my realization that MY husband had been dealing with my RA for five…long… years. How about that, bucko?
My husband had all of two years with a healthy woman (not 30 plus) before he knew the joys of lifting his wife in and out of the bathtub every night, or being the one that ALWAYS had to move the baby carrier in and out of the house. He now awakens in the middle of most nights to give me meds. He has not slept in on a weekend since we had our child. He watches his siblings buy new houses, new cars and take nice vacations while he spends his money on celebrex and assistive devices. He has allowed that his disposable income (and eventually his non-disposable income) has gone to keeping my joints from turning to steel.
And after all this, when my husband feels the need to get frisky and I insist that I can’t move, he’ll say, “That’s ok, I can do what I need to with you laying just like that.”
Yeah…it is pretty funny, and yes…it does always work. I'm ashamed to admit, but I guess I am just a sucker for unconditional love and acceptance.
But the point here is…has my hubby ever once threatened to leave? No way…he’s not a bitch. He’s just married to one…a Superbitch!
And let me say this loud and clear: no way would this suberbitch allow for anyone to be here if he didn’t absolutely want to be. Furthermore, my husband knows that whether my joints are swollen or not, it still IS…has always BEEN and will always BE my round ass he’s after. And we all know the way into our pants is through our voltaren gel…so start rubbing baby!