end of the line

i started a new job, under the table, this was last week.
i go three times a week in the morning to care for an elderly couple. the woman needs complete care; getting her out of bed, diapers, sponge baths, lifting her to and from her wheelchair to different places (mostly her chair to toilette or to the living room recliner, where she sleeps most of the shift), giving her her pills and shots and clocking her bloodsugar levels and injecting her when necessary with potent sugar leveling syrums.
the man is not so badly off. he can have a conversation, still make a person chuckle. he keeps telling me how he used to fly b52 bombers during WWII and i keep acting thrilled, same questions, same answers. if that is where his identity rests, and if that is how he wishes to remain known, i don't mind him telling it to me over and over during the week.
it's kinda a downer thinking 'ok, this job will end as soon as they Die.' it's weird. the first couple nights it kept me up, but i just swallowed all those dramatics, as Dima would encourage me, chide me to, and think of how gratifying it is taking care of such a historical couple. he in WWII and she had 11 children with him. 11!
the mother, Miss Honey, is not supposed to make it through the summer. we'll see.
i'll help her. :)