Luther was supposed to go someplace, meet family for lunch. He was jazzed about getting out, seeing people since he'd been cooped up in the house for a couple days.
Got a message later in the day from my sister: would I stop by her house? She made us some egg mcmuffins and mom made Luther mittens.
The quest for Luther to get something on his hands has been a long one - see the blog post about oven mitts... Mom crafted some giant mittens for him from some sweaters I gave her. She was collecting sweaters for another woman who makes mittens for charity. Lightbulb moment for a crafty gal. Thus, mittens for Luther.
Stories are never simple, are they? I'm worried about Luther and got distracted by mittens.
Anyways, I realized Luther didn't go to the lunch. I called him to make sure he was ok.
He couldn't get himself dressed. He tried. When I got home the evidence was on the living room chair - jeans heaped over the arm.
It worries me. I feel a change coming on. Something I'm not sure either of us are ready for but really, have no choice but to face. His arms are getting worse. He used to be able to take his left arm and lift his right up to do things. Like eat. Enter the code in to the garage door opener. Comb his hair. It was a thing to behold but he got fairly accurate flinging his right arm.
Now, not much flinging is happening. His left arm has lost most ot it's fling capability.
Next to him in bed last night, I reached out to rub his back. It's all bone. His shoulders are all angles and bones. He snuggled in closer, I told him I loved him and secretly worried about him driving to work, how would he get dressed tomorrow, will the cold affect his arms even more, what's next, how long will he live, and finally, I had to think about something else.
The mittens, by the way, are fantastic.