In desperation to interrupt this depressive downward spiral (and to avoid 2 hours in the kitchen this eve) I got my S.O. and myself out to dinner. It was a steakhouse and we were both hungry. It was good to see him eat quite heartily. The steaks were tasty. But he's awfully frail.

Watching his slow, relentless deterioration is excruciating. He doesn't complain. I admire that. At least he enjoyed what he ate. I have to find ways to put more joy in our daily lives. After dinner, we stopped somewhere else for ice cream. I wanted us to do something normal, after too much time cooped up at home. To watch someone leaving this life, bit by bit, everyday . . . for so long. Why it has to be so slow. He was confused. His dementia has gotten worse. Driving to the restaurant, I had to explain twice where we were going. Another hunk of his mind has left. He's been leaving me, even while he's still here. I can't hold on to him. I can't hold him together. I can't hold on to him tight enough. He's slipping away. But he wanted to please me tonight. It's so hard for him to move, but he tries. People help. Someone held a door. Someone held his chair, while I got him up from the booth. Patrons. Other customers always notice and offer help. But some employees can be such boneheads. A hostess and someone else in the lobby, just idly chatting, while I'm struggling to open a door and push a wheelchair through at the same time, right in front of them. I guess it's how they were raised.

I feel so bad that I've been so depressed and letting the both of us just vegetate lately. But I got us out this evening. That was something . . . an improvement. Now I could straighten some stuff out before going to bed. I have to stop being lazy and not caring about anything. I wish I knew of some caregiver support group. I'm too isolated. He sleeps most of the morning and early afternoon. There's no explaining this - that I'm alone a lot, even when I'm with him. People who might know better don't even think to call and offer a brief chat. They say, "Let me know if I can do anything for you." One person does call. Just one person . . . who lost her spouse to sudden, grave illness. She knows. Everyone else just stays clueless.

Mornings are awful. So I should plan what I'll do tomorrow.