IT’S 2am, and for the second night in a row I have woken up to the familiar sound of James shouting my name.
But even as I fumble, heart pounding, for the light switch the cries of ‘Georgina, Georgina…’ fade away and I realise the house is quiet.
Too quiet…
But 48 hours after James went into residential care old nocturnal habits are hard to shake, and if he is no longer in the house he is obviously still very much in my dreams.
Three days ago, on Sunday afternoon, we finally had The Talk, the one I had been guiltily avoiding all week, the one I didn’t know how to broach.
Making up my mind that I simply couldn’t continue to care safely for James at home was one thing.
Telling him was quite another.
And as the days, and then the hours, ticked down until Monday morning, I knew that somehow I had to find the words.
Latterly I had not told James of any outings or appointments until shortly before we were due to leave home.
The mere thought of going out sent his anxiety levels soaring - and left me prey to endless questioning about the mechanics of where, and when and how we could accomplish our modest expeditions.
But it seemed heartless to keep him in the dark until ten minutes before his permanent exile, and so I had decided we would sit down together after Sunday lunch and talk it through - even if it meant I would subsequently get no sleep that night.
Roast beef consumed, trifle trifled with, the table cleared and the coffee served, I could think of no further reason for delay, and with a trembling heart sat on the sofa with James and held his hand.
“Darling,” I began falteringly, “there is something we need to talk about...”
James raised an enquiring eyebrow, and my words came out with a rush.
“It’s just that I am absolutely exhausted, and you keep falling over, and...and...and the doctor has said I need a rest.”
James patted my hand kindly and said “I’m very sorry to hear that...”
“So,” I continued, “do you remember where you went for a respite week last summer? Well tomorrow, you are going back there for another stay so I can get some rest...”
James didn’t remember.
But neither did he seem the least bit concerned.
He asked one or two questions, and then – to my utter astonishment – he let the subject drop.
Perhaps, I told myself, James had become too used to being carted off to hospital at a moment’s notice...Or maybe what I had said hadn’t really sunk in, so I braced myself for the seemingly inevitable round of enquiry later on.
But the afternoon slipped smoothly by and at bedtime James allowed himself to be tucked in quite cheerfully - and slept the entire night through.
In the morning it was apparent he had forgotten all about his forthcoming banishment, so Judy, his carer, gently reminded him about his “holiday”.
She had him buffed, polished and smartly dressed - James is a man who suits a Breton stripe - and with a group hug we said our farewells.
Then - without a word of demur - James and I set off together to the Home at the end of the road, and braced ourselves for whatever lay ahead.
Dear "Georgina", I am so sorry for your stressful & heartrending situation. I imagine James will take it all in his stride, which may now be fairly accepting of a limited world around him which he connects less & less with. He sounds tranquil, so I think you also need to try to be for your own welbeing. You have given all you can to support him as far as you have come. Keeping you both in my thoughts.
I hope it all went well when he went and that he settles in well. I was tense as I was reading afraid that it would be traumatic - so glad he took it well and hope it continues that way.