Status Report

As we begin this second week of caring for Tarzan's grandfather all by our lonesomes I feel a lot more relaxed about the whole thing - despite my not getting up this early this consistently since the year before I stopped working.
Some of it surely is that GOM didn't die last week despite some serious whining. It is amazing to me to see the similarities between Tarzan and his grandfather, it's like they are the same person at different stages of life. And one of those similarities is their inability to deal with pain or illness. When GOM feels good then all is sunshine and roses and we're so nice to help him out and there are promises of money and gifts - NOT why we are helping let me just make that clear - and he's on top of the world. On the less than stellar days, if something hurts say, or when he feels poorly, all I hear is why doesn't the Lord let him die and maybe he needs to take morphine to end it all and he's no good to anyone, every move is punctuated with a loud aching groan and on and on and on.
I had not heard any of that previous to last week.
Either my afternoons with GOM had been all good days - unlikely so many in a row - or his pain medication was better, or I was less stressed because I was going home at the end of the day. I'm inclined to go with the last option. Last week I was worried every breath would be his last and I'd have to explain it to the family.
This week I am much more certain GOM will be fine until Tarzan's mother gets back from Europe. He's having a good day today, and now that I know the bad days are more mental than actual physical deterioration, we just remind him that he doesn't have to live if he doesn't want to, but it's not up to us to say. It's all him. That usually makes him rescind the "kill me now" statements.
Plus breakfast this morning: "the cereal [Cream of Wheat] was perfect."

This is me, on day seven of twenty-one.