u/AstronautTypical3666

When I reflect on my end-of-life wife, I used to think it was me who was having a breakdown.

She would bring me a meal along with a snide remark. In the end, it came to me throwing the meal or drink up against the wall or onto the floor because of the hurtful message that always came with it.

I was convinced, or rather my wife convinced me, that it was I who needed help. These times got worse until I realised, as she comforted me in total denial, she had said anything, it wasn't me at all. Little did I realise it was the beginning of her Early on set dementia. I visit her every day, watching her drain away, not knowing who I am, feeling so guilty I didn't realise earlier.

I love her so much, but I feel guilty that I could have helped earlier.