I know that his disease really does affect his thinking. I know he has dementia and cannot always help the things he says and the things he does.
Part of me can forgive him over and over and over for the same offenses.
Part of me dies a little inside with each new lie, each promise broken.
Part of me wishes walking away were an option.
Part of me wishes that I could make him feel just a fraction of the pain he makes me feel.
But it's a disease. And it isn't in me to do the things he does over and over just to get even.
And it isn't in me to leave.
Today I don't like him very much at all.
And despite it all I still love him.