At 11:30 p.m., I hear Don making noise in the direction of the kitchen, which is off limits for him. I intervene.
Kristy: What are you looking for?
Don: I need a ride home.
I descend the stairs from my office, sitting down on the step that puts me closest to Don’s eye level. His feet are shifting and he looks at them regularly. He’s uncomfortable. Something is amiss. I take this opportunity to speak first.
Kristy: Can you help me understand why you don’t think this house is now the only home you have?
Don: No.
I patiently explain the history about how we got here at this home that we thought would be our last. Don still seems confused.
Kristy: Do you know who I am, and how I fit into the timeline of your life and what I’m telling you at this moment?
He shakes his head and says, “No”.
Kristy: Yeah, buddy, I hear you. I wish I could go home and back to a life that was normal, too.
Note to Self: Why do I feel the need, every time, to make this more tolerable for him?