Care-Taking
Saturday, November 8th, 2003
Care-Taking
A Dom Entry
Billy's sick. He's been like this for days. He just stays on the couch and reads letters, and sneezes. I feel so bad for him, especially since all I can do is watch, or try to pour out all I feel through MS. But it doesn't really help me at all. He looks so pale and groggy most of the time. Like he's just going to topple over or break.
I've been trying to take care of him as best as I can. I've made him soup, tucked him in, put the fire on, put the fire out, cleaned up where cleaning is needed. He insists on going to his room. He says that I'll get sick from being around him so much. But I don't want to move him. I just want him to stay in one place and drink his juice. I want to be able to hear him sniffing every few seconds as he's reading one of his letters. I want him near to me, not put away somewhere.
I hope he's better soon. I sit and talk to him a while, but he always seems too tired to smile at anything I say. So I have to go to bed, all the way upstairs. He tells me that he's all right alone, but I think about him lying there until I fall asleep.
Guilt is my regular feeling at work. I feel like I should be with him at home instead. Everything I do with mail and deliveries is so trivial. Who would actually rather have their mail than have a sick man cared for? Selfish lot of sods. While my Billy is sick at home, they're well and comfy reading the latest issue of People. Well, I hope they enjoy it.
It's so hard not to pick up that sick, little Billy on the couch. He's just out of my reach. I could be holding him.
He should be sleeping now. I hate being in this bed alone. I should be taking care of him. What if he wakes up with a nightmare? I should be down there, just in case. I should be watching him cling to that little bear I gave him. My Billy.
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