the fire place is on

an early autumn morning 

colourful trees, watch.

Monday morning.  The fire is on and out my winder I can see colourful autumn trees slowly losing their leaves.  Winter is coming - but before the first snow it always feels romatic and relaxing, let settling into a good book with a cup of cider beside me.

Right now, though, I'm sipping coffee.  Looking at my schedule, I wish I could sleep instead of getting up and prepping for a crazy morning of meetings.  

I'm still grieving.  It's challenging saying no all the time.  No, we can't buy a cottage.  No, we can't buy a place for winters.  No, we can't fly.  I know he's clinging to the semblance of normalcy and hoping to check a few more items off his bucket list, butI feel like I need to wind down - accept that we cannot travel anymore, accept that he's too far advanced, and stop feeling guilty that I don't want to use this last bit of time by lugging around medical equipment and being lonely.

I feel horrible, truth be told.  He wants a place for warmer winters - and all I see is work.  Needing to buy equipment, needing to hire PSWs in another country.  Being away from my support circle.  Seeing no one but him, alone in another country, potentially no vehicle.

We have compromised - if Joe wins the election, I'll entertain buying a condo somewhere on the lower east coast that's warmer and driveable.  If not, he may be stuck here.   I'll buy wine.  He'll be fine.