Dr. Jekyll & Mrs. Burkhart

I am, I have been told, the worst person, wife and mother ever.  EVER!  It is the middle of the night and Gary is once again on the floor.  The fire department has been called and so, while we are waiting, I think about challenging that statement.  I’m not a mother at all and, if one part of a statement is false, the whole statement is false; therefore, I could not possibly be the worst person, wife and mother ever.  I decide against arguing logic at this point and listen instead to Gary’s venomous screed. 

 

The situation as I recall it is thus: Gary fell out bed, I was awakened by the sound of his body hitting the floor, sprang from bed to check on him and immediately called 911.  His recollection is a little bit different.  He is quite sure that he fell over an hour ago in a different city.  The fire department was called and arrived to assist but I refused to let them in because I wanted to embarrass him in front of my co-workers and some church ladies.  Ghosts whisked him away to our house (except instead of putting him in bed, they dumped him on the floor) and here we are.  He has been laying on the floor for an hour and I refused to allow anyone to help and I am, therefore, the worst person, wife and mother ever.

 

Again, I think of challenging him, reminding him that for the last 2 years(ish), I have worked full-time, taken care of the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry and the bills and the groceries and the pets and that’s on top of being his caretaker 24/7, providing him meals, administering his medications, coordinating an endless list of appointments with his primary care doc, multiple specialists, imaging, lab work, physical therapy, etc. etc. etc.  I have fed him, bathed him and wiped his ass so how dare he?  How dare he?  But what’s the point?  His delusion is his reality and the only things that matters now is that he knows that I left him on the floor for an hour.

 

And so, while we wait, I sit on the edge of his bed, watching him helpless on the floor and listening to hateful, hurtful insults pour of his mouth.  I realize at that moment that he is gone and so I wish that he really was gone.  I wish that he died before we ever got to this place.  And, as I try to ignore his screaming, I think about that.  I wish he was dead.

 

Maybe I really am the worst wife ever.