Caregiver's Lament

Caregiver’s Lament

The bracelet labels me “Caregiver,”

gives me an ID number

labels me as one who looks after someone with memory loss.

But there are some days now

when I don’t want to “care,”

don’t want to answer the same question for the tenth time,

days when I try to find the courage

to say no to another trip to Starbuck’s,

days when I don’t want to explain which is the phone,

which is the TV remote,

days when I tired of coaxing him to eat,

to take his pills, to brush his teeth,

days when I have ask him not to wear his pajama top to church

even though he calls it a shirt,

days when I’m tired of being angry and frustrated

when I am lonely and miss the brilliant, funny man I knew.

There are days when I want to take off that cloak, that bracelet

and travel to an exotic landscape if only in my mind,

when I want someone to ask me if I would like to go for ice cream

or would I like to watch a movie?

when I wish someone else would take out the trash,

days when it would just be nice to be remembered

days when I wish someone would take care of me.