A Year

There is really not much to say, maybe because to be honest, i try not to think about the devastation of the last years of our life together.

I sure could, and on bad days do, wallow in the trauma, the agony, the horror, the loss, the grief which still underlies so much of my comprehension of the human world now.

If i were a soldier – and maybe all caregivers are, paid or not, fighting this tidal wave of dementia – I know i would be recognised to be with PTSD, for what it’s worth. No matter. No help for what happened anyway.

Except maybe it would help if society, friends, co-workers, all recognised that this is what we, all of us, have travelled through. Cure? for what? reality?

No way you can lie in your bed terrified night after night in case he – your most intimate trusted person – thinks you’re a intruder (sometimes acts on that) and not be damaged. No way you can face this madness, and dearly love the person, day after day, and not be damaged.

The disease was the intruder, and a tidal wave that swept away our lives.

But tonight, a year after he breathed his last, i am also remembering the great times, as I often do. We did have a great totally fabulous time together. Laughter and closeness and adventures. So much. And, yes, earth-shaking arguments.

As he got sicker and sicker, and then in the care home, we got much closer, both stripped of ego and identity. Just us. And we still knew each other until the end.

I can only hope our spirits meet again.

Until then, i am slowly picking up involvement and enjoyment in daily life, although i have to confess it all seems to me privately like a shadow-show now. It was like this once when i recovered from cancer. But this time I have to play (and often enjoy) my parts.

But I do still miss that extremely aggravating person, my own beautiful man. I guess I always will.

I won’t say, Rest in peace. I will repeat what i whispered as he died.

I will be with you soon enough. Time means nothing to you now, so wait, while i live out, maybe even enjoy, this petty bit of life still given to me. I will be there and we will go to the stars together. I promise.

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One response to “A Year

  1. Grace

    Beautifully expressed. I feel your pain.