When friends compliment me for being patient and nurturing toward Ralph I have to laugh. Empathy for others easy, empathy for Ralph not so much.

Especially today. Maybe I can blame the bad cold I’ve come down with, but I feel like griping. I don’t blame you if you don’t feel like sharing my self-pity party, and if that’s the case, you might want to stop reading now.

I just spent the morning re-ordering his meds, which never arrived last week. I ordered refills weeks ago and have assumed they were on the way but when I went to feel his weekly box, I realized they still haven’t come and we are getting dangerously low. Evidently Ralph removed the post office’s post-it note without telling me I needed to pick up a package. The package got returned, we’re down to less than a week of some meds and I was on the phone with the mail order pharmacy working out how to get his meds for half an hour. In the old days, I would have yelled at Ralph for forgetting to tell me because he wasn’t paying attention, but how can I now, knowing it’s not his fault.

Then I re-organized the clothes in Ralph’s closet yet again. One of the more recent hints of slippage has been sartorial. He was never a snazzy dresser, but he was vain about his admittedly good looks. Now whatever is closest at hand is what he puts on. I no longer bother reminding him about the separation between work and dress clothes, but I do try to steer him in the right direction, mostly by having fewer choices visibly available.

Then I dug out a few Natty Lites from my secret hiding place and put them in the fridge for later this afternoon. Ralph more or less accepts this system for limiting his daily alcohol consumption although he’s remarkably able to find my hiding places, his memory and sense of direction still acute where beer and cigarettes are concerned.

This is all so trivial, and I know others’ problems concerning Alzheimer’s, not to mention poverty, hunger, war, are much worse. But I have noticed that managing these silly daily tasks with their subtle reminder of something amiss, something out of balance, sometimes drains more energy and patience  than dealing with Ralph himself. Or that after taking responsibility for the practical details of Ralph’s life, my patience for dealing with the man himself is compromised.

But as I said, I have a cold.

So I’m off to make myself tea and toast and pretend I have someone to take care of me for a little while.