I felt inspired in my insomnia last night, here is something I wrote, it has a lot of errors and I need to clean it up but here it is:

I have earned time to sit by myself on the edge of Tiger Creek, a rushing river close to my house and I sit and just watch the water pulse and push in its eagerness to go anywhere. The smell of cedars is calming. I can smell the dirt, a pungent soothing smell. There are crazy, angry rapids and little whirl pools. In some places the river slips off on its own and is tranquil, some places are deceptively smooth, taunting me to come in. The water comes from up above where there is still snow and it is cold. I throw a broken, loose branch from the ground beside me into the rushing water and watch as it is carried away, sometimes gently, sometimes violently. I am that branch. We think we are in control of our lives but we are not. We are small branches carried along by the whims of the river; we go were it takes us and we hope for the best. We start out sometime around 12 years old thinking that we are strong salmon that can swim against the current. We are energized by going against it. The older fish are the trout that watch us and laugh because soon we will be like them looking for calm spots, riding the rapids, going where we are taken. Some of us are lucky, the river takes us to beautiful places, and those people think that they fooled the river but they did not. The river is random, has no favorites and can quickly scoop up and spit you on a rock. Others never get out of the rapids. Most of us experience a little of both. My life has been both salmon and trout; sometimes I was even a mermaid for brief seconds. I now see my life as it is, as it was. More importantly, I am compelled to share that life, to express my delights and sorrows but mostly my joy in having been loved by so many. I sit by the river and reflect on why I am still alone, why I have given so much love, received it back and yet here, today, alone. Always the river has been moving me along and now I have learned to float on it, instead of swim against it. All my partners have floated on ahead of me, perhaps it is time for me to join them.

One day Arthur came to drink from the river. His name was not really Arthur, it was Rollie, and I just call him that because he was there on his horse with his hand extended to carry me away. Of course, I went willingly, finally someone to take care of me. For a while, we lived in Camelot, a beautiful babbling brook. What a man, so strong. I loved his straight smooth back, his roughened hands that had never known a days rest, his creative mind and his energy. I remember asking him for help and him stopping everything he was doing, looking at me and saying, of course, whatever you need He knew and he did it. The sound of his voice on the phone was a potion. There was a lot of laughter too. I think he was my Magic man, I cannot think of anything he could not do. He could dig a well and then paint a picture. Even when he was angry, he still made me feel loved and cherished. Thats the word cherished. Then a storm came. It was brutal and punishing. It was like a lightening bolt going through his brain. It exposed everything. The horrific battle memories, the scaring childhood memories, it was laid bare. My caregiver could not hide anymore she had to come out. We struggled, Rollie and I, for many years. The river had come to a cliff and we were going down in the waterfall. I had to just let go of everything. The falls were too powerful. We tumbled and while we were tumbling we grabbed at each other, we scratched each other, we were going down kicking and screaming. At the bottom of the falls was a small pool with a little bank. We swam to that bank and made a home there. We thought we were safe. No, the river wanted us back. It swelled and took us in again and this time there was no boat or life raft or even a ring. The rapids bashed his skull into the rocks and all I could do was watch. Then the river dropped him into my arms and said, Im done with him, you take care of him. Therefore, I have been. The rocks had their own name, Alzheimers. Soon the water is going to take him under and I will be swimming alone.

I have been swimming alone for a while now, I have fish with me, I have other water creatures and sometimes we roll together and jump and splash and we have fun. I still feel my Rollie in the spirit of the water but I am solo. I guess we caregivers must have an aura, even though I dont believe in mystical things like that. Many people find me, seek me out, people know that I will listen or offer to help.

I have recently opened the box of Rollies letters to me and I am made weak with reminders of the man he was. The wonderful, strong, delightful, loving, sensual, caring, passionate man he was. Such passion he had for me, I am blessed woman to have known such a man. Now, I will tell you of the moment when I knew that I was in love with Rollie. We were out to lunch away from the company where we both worked. We had become friendly and he was someone that I looked for as a mentor in my work- this was my first real management job and he had been doing it for years. Oh, I can still see him standing in front of all the other managers giving his Quarterly Review, talking about the growth and productivity of his department, standing in front of everyone so confident and smooth, like he had been born there. While I was in the back waiting my turn to give my presentation and I was sweating and terrified. I wanted to turn invisible. I loved watching him speak and walk around the room.

Anyway, yes, to me he was sexy, not because he was physically handsome but because he was SO confident, like he could do anything with one hand tied behind his back. He could slay a dragon with a kitchen knife while eating an apple. He was so different from the insecure person that I was. More importantly, he was the opposite of Dave. He was a man, not a child, knew what he wanted and how to get it. Even me, if he decided he wanted me. We went out to lunch and as we were waiting for our meal he reached across the table and gently touched my fingers that were wrapped around my glass. It was only a second, a touch, and then he removed his hand, and he said, You have very pretty, delicate fingers. It was such an unusual thing for me to hear, especially from a man. That was all. We ate lunch and went back to work. At a later date I asked him to join me in a meeting with a company representative who was performing poorly for our company. I had been told by the company president to get rid of him, fire him. I was unsure of myself and asked Rollie to join me, not admitting my insecurity of course but just as another voice from our company. The man was doing his best to get the better of me and was being somewhat disrespectful to me and I was doing my best to keep my cool and not throw him out of my office. Rollie was leaning against a credenza I had in my office while I was sitting behind my desk and the representative was seated in a chair in front of me. Rollie said nothing for a long time and I was beginning to think I should not have asked him to join me. All of a sudden he began to speak to the other man, in a very soft, pleasant voice, he stated the facts very clearly and precisely and the man was thinking that Rollie was on his side and even complimenting him and quickly Rollie turned the table on him and told in not so plain English, that he needed to remove himself from the plant and take his business elsewhere and here were the reasons why and did he miss anything? Would he like Rollie to walk him to his car personally? I am sure my eyes opened wide in awe and admiration. I could not believe what I had just witnessed, the proverbial, tell a man to go to hell and have him happy to be on his way. He was eloquent, cool, and persuasive and got the job done without bloodshed. I was on my way down the path of love. Rollie and I began to share our problems in confidence. It slowly became obvious to us that we while we were saddened by our failed marriages we also saw it as a sign that we were meant to come together. Like everything he did, Rollie was very thorough in courting me. That is what he called it, courting a very old-fashioned word. It was refreshing to me that he took the time to get to know me, that he was gentle and kind and not demanding.

As you know, a monstrous dragon struck down my knight and he is dyng a slow agonizing death. I will never be sure who suffersmore. The dragon that takes ones mind and robs one of their very souls is a very powerful dragon. It is insidious, soundless, and invisible but you know the dragon is there. Preying on its victim, breathing its hot breath, expending its claws, sharpening its teeth, it will strike again and again and no one sees it coming, there is no defense. My knight, my love, my heart have been devoured by the dragon called, Alzheimers. These last years are incredibly hard for me. If it were not for my friends, especially I think I would have go mad. There is no knight to slay this dragon, all of us just watch in horror. Like a cat toying with a mouse, this giant lizard grabs my Arthur, pierces his flesh until he screams and then lets him go. I try to sneak in and tend to his wound but the monster swipes him back, plunging a fang into his brain. There is never any blood so the wounds are not visible. Shaman can come and try to get close, they can tell where the wounds are but they have no magic for healing. Dragon fangs have poison and once it seeps in there is no antidote. Sometimes the dragon picks him up in its mouth and tosses him into the river. This is when I try to bring Arthur back, wading in the water and taking him to the shore I try to comfort him because there is no healing, just comforting. At these times, the monster would sleep and I even allow myself to believe that he will not come back, that Arthur will recover and then I will hear a roar and know he was returning for his prey. Deftly he plucks him from my arms and the torment begins again for Arthur. Oftentimes Arthur asks for release, let the dragon take me, I dont want this half living anymore. But no, the beast enjoys the game too much, every ounce of life is drawn from him carefully, leaving enough for awareness. Arthurs family does not join me in my crusade against the dragon. They refuse to acknowledge the beasts existence and so they stay in their village, drinking in their tavern, filling their cups with lies and drinking it down. My once strong and powerful knight has stopped fighting, he lays there as the dragon toys with him, punctures his skin, sucks at his brain, breathes in his oxygen. Some days, I admit, I turned away; it is too painful to be so close and yet so helpless. For a moment, I would feel relief because the dragon isnt sucking my life as well. I can breath. The cloud in my head clears and the vice around my brain is gone. Like a shower, the sweat and grime of caring for him is washed away down the drain. After a cleansing, I go back in the forest to the dragons cave and try to reach my knight. There he is, curled in a ball of agony and I touch him gently, slowly his eyes open and focus, he knew me. Relief covers his body like a blanket and he uncurls and relaxes. For a while. Until the next time. This will probably continue until the end when like all parasites, the monster will take just a little too much and my knight will be gone. The beast, Alzheimers will move on to fresh prey. I believe that Arthur will go back to Camelot wearing boots made of dragon hide. He will be surrounded with people, sharing food and drink, inviting everyone to gather round and telling stories of his adventures. Arthur loved to tell stories. He will be happy there, I can see him laughing.