This holiday season, I’m truly trying to enjoy all of the little moments and carve out time to spend with those that I love. I had the great fortune to spend an evening with three of my best friends recently. We had drinks, saw a play, ate snacks at one of my friend’s houses and reconnected after not being in the same room for nearly a year.
Last weekend, I wrapped and baked and cleaned and prepped for most of my immediate family to come to my house. I did it all beforehand so I could just drink, eat and be merry WITH them, instead of scurrying around the house doing whatever needed to be done. Next year I think we should scale it back even more and do even less beforehand.
And for the past week, my husband, son and I, have spent snippets of time together when we can. We had a movie night on Friday, dinner together tonight, and will spend Christmas Eve night and Christmas Day together. The guys are having an entire day together tomorrow while I’m at work, and I hope to snag the kid for an afternoon next weekend with just the two of us.
The three of us have become very aware that our everyday lives together is running short. We still argue and irritate one another, but we also forgive one another quicker than before. We apologize soon after whatever blowout we might have had. We don’t want there to be any bad feelings between us, even for an evening. I’m grateful for that.
My husband recently had chest pain while he was sleeping. It woke him up, but he ended up rolling over and going back to sleep. He hasn’t talked much about it, but to tell me it happened. And…I almost felt good that it happened to him. It gave me hope that he will get to have the death he’s always wanted–dying in his sleep. Yet at the same time, I felt this incredible rush of fear and grief, with a dash of anger. (Emotions are just wacky things, aren’t they?)
As prepared I’m trying to make myself, it’ll be scary when Wal dies (unless I die first). Especially if he does die in the night. A sudden death, even if expected, is still…unexpected. When my brother died, it was still shocking in a way. We knew it would happen and probably soon, but why now? He always came home from the hospital before, so why is this time different? The only way for the rest of us to survive anticipatory grief is to not fully accept reality.
But tonight, I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to finish reading my slightly steamy romance novel by the tv fireplace, have a glass of wine, and listen to the occasional laughter of my family in the other room. I’m going to enjoy these moments while they still exist.
Tell your friends and family you love them, folks. Let’s not have regrets if we can help it. ❤
It’s been a few months since I’ve posted anything here. So much has happened in my life in the past two months–some of it good, much of it horrible.
Our family friend, Virginia Cookson–my niece’s best friend for over 25 years–was murdered by her ex-boyfriend at the end of September. I’m not ready to write about what happened, and may never. It has changed all of our lives in ways I’m not sure we can define yet.
My niece has been speaking about Virginia in public presentations, and I’m tremendously proud of her. I know how hard public speaking is for her, yet talking so openly about Virginia may be cathartic at times. But fuck…it’s also like having to speak at her funeral over and over. My niece is so damn strong, even though she’s not always aware of it. I also know that strength, or people expecting you to be strong, is exhausting. But she knows our family and some of her lovely friends will support her and prop her up when she just can’t stand anymore.
Since Virginia’s murder, my sister has become an advocate for domestic violence victims and I can see that this will end up being part of her life’s work. Virginia was her “other daughter” and her horrible death has propelled my sister to fight for others, to speak for those who can’t, in the hopes of saving at least one person from domestic violence. My sister is a survivor, too, and I’m so damn proud of her for volunteering, getting the word out, trying to make a difference.
As for me? I will support my family and Virginia’s daughter in any way I can. I will advocate for domestic violence victims and I will do what I can to make sure Virginia’s murderer goes to jail for life.
But I think that’s all I can do.
I’ve felt this wide range of stressors pressing me down to the ground since Virginia was murdered. One day last week, I was unable to get out of my car for what I think was a few minutes but felt like longer. I started to think about the variety of “things” I had on my plate–my responsibilities both at work and at home and every single thing I’m worried about. Typically when this happens, I have an anxiety attack and have trouble breathing. But this time I just couldn’t move. Everything was just too fucking much.
A week after Virginia’s murder, I took my husband to the emergency room because he couldn’t breathe and his heart rate was in the 130s. While we were there, his blood pressure rose to 224/146 and a heart rate of 141. He became delirious and told me he loved me and that he would miss me. I remember staring at him as he said it then standing up and petting his head, kissing him on the forehead. Was this it? Was this the day? This was October 4th–five years to the day that my mother died. I started talking to Mom in my head. “Mom, this is your day, right? I’m thinking Wal shouldn’t share that day with you. He can die another day, don’t you think?”
He was eventually stabilized, diagnosed with pneumonia, but didn’t come home for 5 days. And when he did come home? He came home with oxygen. He used it for a few days, but not enough in my opinion. He now uses it occasionally when he has rough days or nights. Will it be forever? I’m not sure. It feels like the next stage in congestive heart failure to me. But I honestly don’t know.
Then this week? We’re fighting with CMD Powersystems who caused a propane leak at our house and could have blown up our home and killed my family. I asked to have a bill paid to another company that had to fix said leak and to fill our propane tank. That’s it. Since that’s not happening, I’m going to take them to court. I refuse to let this company to take advantage of us. If they think not taking responsibility for this huge mistake is ok, they are sorely wrong. I’m done being a fucking doormat.
On Wednesday, I was verbally assaulted by a patron–this is not something I say lightly. I’ve been yelled at by patrons before, most people that have worked with the public experience it one time or another. This time though the guy called me some particularly nasty things, but what was scary was how his face changed. As I was explaining a particular policy, it’s like a mask fell from his face to show me what a cruel bastard he really was. The nastiness started shortly after. I had planned to take the next day off, and although I had a meeting via Zoom I was going to attend, I bowed out of it and took care of myself instead. I ended up having a pretty great day with my husband and son and put everything work related aside. It felt like a huge deep breath.
And then the next morning, we found out our beautiful doctor, Adam Lauer, died from pancreatic cancer. It was such a friggin’ kick to the chest. I often talk about Adam and did so a few years ago in my post about having part of my pancreas removed. We knew Adam had cancer and would die much earlier than we would, but he had such hope that he’d get into clinical trials. He did everything he absolutely could to be there for his children, but fucking cancer took him anyways. Adam made such a difference in hundreds of lives in this area. I honestly feel like he saved my son’s life by working through some of his depression through medication and therapy.
Today I went to the visiting hours for Adam. I canceled my appointment with my hospice folks that I visit each Sunday, and went to pay my condolences to Adam’s family.
It was awful. There were many people in old house that has been converted to a funeral home, and there was a line to shake the hands of some of the family members and to see Adam’s body. I was ok at first, but the longer I stood there I knew that I wouldn’t be able to tamp down my emotions. As I said “hello” to Adam’s dad, I choked out how his son had been my doctor and my family’s and how much we cared about him. His father, also a doctor, told me how when he was a young adult, his doctor died. His doctor was a lot like Adam, he said, and he was devastated and thought he’d never find another such a great doctor again. And then Adam, his son, became his doctor. “There’ll be another good doctor for you,” he said. Here was this man, having lost his son, trying to comfort me. I thanked him, told him how tremendously sorry I was, and moved on. I could not tell him how much more Adam meant to our family then just our doctor. We cared about him and he cared about us. He swore like a fucking sailor and he made us feel so comfortable with anything and everything. He never put a time limit on our appointments and he always explained everything in a way we could actually understand. He created personal connections with many of his patients. He never felt like “just” our doctor. There was no one like him.
I miss him. We all miss him. Adam Lauer made a difference in our community. One can only hope to affect the world like he did.
And now…I need to put all of those events in little boxes and file them away. I need to finish washing the dishes, fold laundry and prepare for the work week ahead. Just like we all do, right? I will go to bed tonight, breathe through my range of hot flashes, listen to make sure my husband is still breathing, and hope I can sleep through most of the night and not wake up at 3:30 with my mind swirling in every bad direction it could possibly go. Then I’ll wake in the morning, drink a cup of coffee, get the kid up, and do my best to make it a decent day.
I’m not sure there’s much else we can do, is there?
Please try to be good to yourself this week. It’s gonna be a rough one. ❤
If you’ve ever had to apply for disability for a physical ailment or diagnosis (Social Security Disability Insurance–SSDI), you know that you need to fill out a shit ton of paperwork. Oddly, I typically love doing paperwork. I love surveys and questionnaires and I’ve helped my husband fill out many kinds of paperwork throughout our entire marriage. It brings me a little joy.
But the function reports you fill out for Social Security are so…depressing. The questions asked are to show the government what you *can* do, but also what you are no longer able to do. As we went through the list of questions, my mood dipped lower and lower and lower. He talked about how things have changed. He used to make dinner on a regular basis, and still does occasionally, but now he has to do it sitting down on his walker. Often he can’t stand for more than 5 minutes, and if you’re boiling or frying something, it would be silly (and dangerous) to sit in another room if you can’t see or hear what’s happening on the stove.
On the form, there’s a question that asks you to describe your typical day. As Wal described his day, and the amount of dozing and napping and sleeping that he does, I just got really sad. Between his heart not working well, his chronic pain and the medications he has to take to keep living, he is *literally* sleeping much of his life away.
Then we got to the question about what he can no longer do. He listed off a bunch of things, first the work-related activities, then many of the tasks at home he can’t do any longer. This is when I cried just a bit, and he started to sigh more.
As you age, you expect things to change. You expect to not be able to physically accomplish what you once did. But when you’re ill, you realize that you can’t do what you did just last year. Or even 6 months ago. I don’t feel like I’m been particularly naive about Wal’s sickness, but crikey. Filling out these forms and seeing in black and white how far he’s deteriorated, was still a surprise.
Yet when the opportunity came up to visit with a dear friend and for Wal to meet my friend’s family for the first time (and go to the coast!), he was up for the challenge. I drove us to Bar Harbor, and I loved how he kept the window down and did what I typically do when we go to the coast. He inhaled deeply as we neared the ocean and exclaimed how good it smelled. The salty sea air always rejuvenates us!
We met our friends at Acadia National Park and I rode up to Cadillac Mountain with them as Wal drove to the restaurant we would meet at for dinner. (Walking at all on Cadillac was not something he felt he could do.) I had a lovely time with my sweet friends, then we all met at the restaurant where we ate, drank, talked and had a good time. It felt like years had been rewound and my husband was more like he used to be. Not the chronically ill man who is in near constant pain, who gasps for breath when he naps, who *has* to nap, whose hand tremors often make him have to eat with his left hand instead of his usual right. He was just…Wally.
After we left our friends, we did a quick stop at the grocery store to pick our boy up something for dinner. But as we made our way to the check out, it seemed like Wal’s energy was draining and his pain was ratcheting up. The way he walked started to change, the grimace formed on his face, and he was back to the man who can no longer work, the man who doesn’t eat much anymore, the man who can no longer take short walks with his wife. By the time we arrived home 90 minutes later, it was an effort for him to get out of the car. It was time to take his medications and hope his pain would not be so bad through the night so he could sleep.
Then it was back to me watching his chest to make sure he was still breathing, back to counting out his meds and placing them into the pill caddy, and back to helping him in the shower.
But…it was the perfect respite for both of us. He felt like he was living again, and I got to remember what life used to be like. Our days may not be like they used to be, but that one evening gave us our lives back for a little while and it’s made both of us grateful for those fun and sweet moments we still have.
And the kind, kick-ass friends we have in our lives.
Thank you, Jo, Ray & Freddie for a fantastic evening. And thank all of you friends and family who continue to support us by listening to us, loving us, and lending us a hand when we desperately need it.
I feel very, very lucky to have all of you in my life.
This weekend, my husband and I had “the” conversation. Within any marriage or long-term relationship, there are many types of big, important discussions. Before we were married, I told my husband I did not want children. I knew that he did, but it just wasn’t something I wanted when I was in my 20s. He loved me enough to marry me anyways. Then in 2002, five years after we got married and a few months after my stepfather died unexpectedly at the age of 58, Wal and I were sitting in a Wendy’s in Bangor. We were reflecting on my stepdad’s life and talking about my mom’s future, when I blurted out that I think I wanted kids after all. My family is so wacky and weird and wonderful, why wouldn’t I want that to continue? Of course then it took 4 more years until my boy was conceived due to my endometriosis, but he was well worth the wait.
We’ve had other conversations that should have been tremendously impactful for us both, but often they were not. Talking about debt, sharing household chores, and parenting are the first ones that come to mind that have had only short-term effects.
But in the past few years, Walter and I have talked a lot about end-of-life. This is partially due to my brother’s death, then my parents and my father-in-law. We wrote out our living wills the month after my mom died in 2019, which happened to be just three months before Wal ended up on a ventilator and in a coma. We’ve both changed our living wills a bit since then, having learned the hard way what we want and don’t want our bodies to go through.
This past year, though, has been particularly difficult to talk about death when it seems like it’s much nearer than we thought it would be at this time in our lives. I may have been volunteering for hospice for nearly two years now, but it’s so different when it’s your own spouse. This weekend, my husband admitted that he’s finally seeing how sick he really is. He realized that some of what he was able to do last summer he can no longer do. “I hope I’m here at this time next year,” he said to me last night. We started to talk about his beliefs after death, how he’s not scared to die but doesn’t want to. But also how tired he is. When you have congestive heart failure, your heart WILL stop working at some point, and right now, his heart is working overtime.
Most of the time I have faith that my husband will live another 6 or 7 years, maybe even 10. (He does have incredible longevity genes, and most people in his predicament would have been dead a year ago.) But after the week we’ve had, with constant pain, tremendously high blood pressure and heart rate (but not quite enough to go to the ER), and high blood sugar levels, I’m not so sure about the number of years anymore.
There was a LOT of caregiving to do this past week due to a wrist injury Wal incurred a month ago. It gave me flashbacks of when my mom lived with us for those two short and exhausting, stressful months. And possibly a glimpse into our future? I can already see that I will either need to change my work schedule or honestly, not take care of myself as much as I do right now. I’m fortunate that I have the time to walk before work (unless I don’t sleep well, which is happening every other night lately) and I sometimes walk at lunchtime while the weather is still good, then workout at the gym after work a few nights a week. But that’s leaving my husband alone a lot. Am I frustrated by his lack of social circle? You bet your ass I am. I can only encourage so much, then I have to let it go. But…the guilt does set in. He’s told me before that he wants me to live my life but then admits he gets lonely.
And I keep thinking, “What if this really is his last year?”
I made time for my parents and brother in the last years of their life. I didn’t realize it was the last year for my brother, but I made time because I loved being with him. I knew my parents’ time was short, and I wanted to make sure I did right by them. And although I often enjoy time with my husband, this just feels complicated. Maybe because there’s a lot of anger towards him for not taking care of himself for our entire marriage (and before)? And because our son won’t have his dad around for much of his adulthood? Probably.
But…I still want to do right by my husband. We’ve been together for 29 years, married nearly 27. When you’ve been with someone that long, you know so much about them, including when they are scared or hurt. I have a lot of empathy for people, but I feel the pain and fear and disappointment that my husband is feeling. So I’m trying to make his life AND death to be whatever he wants it to be, but it’s not easy. I often feel helpless and frustrated and sometimes I just want it to all be over.
And then I think about this goofball, and say “Nah. You can keep going, old man.”
I am trying to look to the future to give me some positive vibes. I know I have a lot to look forward to this year–a trip to Belize with four of my best girlfriends, touring colleges in Washington, D.C. while also visiting another one of my favorite humans, watching and preparing my son to apply for colleges all around the northeast. This should be an exciting time.
But while I am at home I feel…stuck? Unmotivated? Sad? Living with and loving someone who has a chronic illness and will eventually die from that illness, is incredibly difficult. There is so much anger to go around–from myself, from my son, and sometimes from my husband. Watching my husband shuffle when he walks, take naps every day because he doesn’t have the energy to do much, and come to terms with the fact that there is only so much he can now do to fix his health is heartbreaking–and honestly rage-inducing.
Here’s the thing: I want my husband to try and enjoy whatever life he has left. Hopefully that will still be 8 or 9 years, but at this rate, I doubt that figure. I know that for him, enjoying his life means he’ll watch films he loves, spend time with our little family, listen to a variety of music, and dream about winter camping. Little things bring him contentment. But to enjoy this life, it also means that he’ll eat basically whatever he wants. And in doing so, his diabetes is not under control and his congestive heart failure symptoms have increased.
This is the part that frustrates me to the nth degree.
Living our lives, no matter how we live them, brings consequences to not just ourselves, but those around you.
I am relying on my partner for not only emotional support but for financial support. And with the many days of work missed and a few unpaid hospital bills, it has created a tremendous stressor in our household.
Our son, a junior in high school, has begun applying for scholarships for college. I set him on this path because every school he’s interested in is out of state and all have hefty price tags. But now he’s become obsessed with applying for the big scholarships, the ones with full tuition that are so dang hard to come by. And I know that that is my fault. I honestly do not know how we will help pay for his schooling.
Currently my son’s main goal after college is to make sure he has a job that can pay his bills. He wants to love what he does but right now that does not seem to be his main concern. He has watched us struggle financially his entire life due to bouts of unemployment, short-term disability, or my choice of career that has never paid what I’m worth. And now that he is on the cusp of adulthood, he will do whatever he can to not live that life.
I am frustrated, scared, and just so unsure of what our future is. I tried to start a vision board for this year. I had ideas a few days ago and now I just feel lost. The one thing I wrote on it was about making and feeding my son healthy meals. Do you know why I wrote that? Because he asked me to feed him well so he could concentrate on his studies, work, applying for scholarships, and to start exercising again.
Recently I was doing laundry and I told him I would do his laundry for him, too. But later that weekend, I fell in some kind of awful dark place. and I didn’t do the laundry. A few days later he called me while I was at work and asked where his work pants were. That’s when I realized they were still in the hamper because I just couldn’t function that weekend. So? I told him the truth. I said I had a depressed episode (I don’t really know what to call it, but that sounded accurate) and I didn’t do the laundry. Do you know what he said? He said, “Ah. Ok, I get it. That’s fair. I will just wear dirty pants to work. Love you, Mom!”
I love this child with every cell of my being.
Just a month ago I would have turned to running to help with all of these feelings. But I just don’t have it in me to do that right now. I did run one day this week and took a walk on a few others, so I’m moving at least. But something has to change.
I am grateful for my work, because that has become my sanctuary. I get to be with people I care about, I get to help others, and I just feel…useful. I feel like I make a difference. I don’t always know what I should do or how to do things correctly, but thankfully I have a team of people who support me and help me find my way.
If you have ever cared for another individual during their sickness and have felt this helpless and sometimes hopeless, I’d love to hear from you. Or if you have some wise words of encouragement, I’ll take those, too.
I’ve been running a lot lately–for me, that is. I ran just over 15 miles each week for the past two weeks. They all felt just so…good. I ran in Springfield, Massachusetts two weeks ago while I was at a conference, and it was so atypical of my runs while traveling. Usually I’m over tired and cranky but desperately want to be outside for a bit and log a few miles. But this time it was just….freeing.
The Lorax at the Dr. Seuss Memorial Sculpture Garden in Springfield, MA.
I am trying to be present in not only my running, but my life. Breaking up with social media has helped me do that. When I run, sometimes I can’t really be where I am or be fully conscious of each step I take because it can be torturous and I just need to finish, damn it! But sometimes I can really enjoy my surroundings, the wind on my face, the sight of the gorgeous fall foliage, the way the light has changed now that we’re into autumn, the crisp smell of the air–it’s all really quite wonderful.
And sometimes, you just have to drag your ass downstairs and onto the treadmill because there’s a nor’easter and the rain is just a bit too much. Whenever I run on the treadmill, I try to be elsewhere in my head. Just focus on that ink blot kind of spot on the basement wall and think of running outside. The other day, though, in that rainy weather, I was halfway through my run, when my husband came downstairs to continue to sort his father’s belongings. After his father died in March, his mother moved back to Maine and brought much of their “stuff” with them, which is currently being housed in our basement. My husband’s job is to look through what’s here and determine if anything should be kept, donated or thrown out. Watching this man, whom I’ve loved and spent nearly my entire adult life with, slowly pick up every one of his father’s items and toss in one bin or another, was difficult. I saw this wide range of emotions pass over his face (grief, apathy, confusion, joy) and I couldn’t help but wonder if some day, I’ll be doing the same task with his things.
As many of you know that read this blog, my husband has had a variety of health challenges over the past four years, with the worst being congestive heart failure. Just this summer he has finally gotten control of his diabetes, which was a huge contributing factor to his worsening health. He feels better now that his blood sugar is where it should be, doesn’t ache as much, feels like living again. And yet…he has chosen to face up to the fact that he may not live another 10 years. In this day and age, when you’re 55 you think you might have at least another 20 if not 30 years left. But when you have a chronic health condition, especially one like congestive heart failure, living to a ripe old age is just not reality.
But while he was sick, he didn’t want to talk about, nor was honest about his mortality. Nothing. And now? This weekend I mentioned that one of the retirement accounts I have, I can actually start withdrawing from in 10 years. He said, so matter-of-factly, “I’ll never see you do that.” At first I didn’t know what he meant. Then I asked, “Because you won’t be here?” He replied that yes, he’ll be dead before then. There was no joking, no laughter like we often do when we talk about our health or aches and pains. It was just a fact and nothing more.
For several years, I’ve known that my husband will not live to be a very old man. And I’ve been ok with that fact. Sound cold-hearted? Maybe, but I come from a long line of women who outlived their husbands and kept living anyways. It’s what women do. Plus, in all honesty, I am very different from my spouse and live a different life, a healthier lifestyle for sure.. I am more social, do different activities than he does, often eat different meals.
But the reality of living alone, after our son has grown, isn’t the most welcoming thought I always figured it would be. Just the other night, I was lying on the couch, reading, with the tv fireplace glowing. My kid was out and my husband was sleeping, so I felt like I was all alone in my home. And for a few minutes I just sat in that feeling of being alone, or rather, being widowed. I have my son and many friends and a few family members, so I am not lonely but often enjoy being alone. This night, though? It was a little scary, a bit sad, and not the best feeling. It’s something I’ve been talking to my therapist about, to understand what’s going on in my brain and heart.
So now, I really, really try to enjoy my time with my spouse. There will always be moments and hours that I’m angry with him or frustrated or fed up, but that’s ok. We’re humans and living with and loving someone for decades is not an easy thing to do in all honesty. I think it’s tough as shit. But we do our best, right? We carry on, we try to live our lives as well as we can, and we love as much as we can, too.
Habits are hard to break, aren’t they? I’ve bitten my nails for my whole life and I’ve finally stopped doing that…mostly. But now I tear at my nails instead. It’s marginally better? I drink coffee each morning before I do much of anything else. It’s not really the best habit because I use sugar and creamer. I’ve cut my sugar in half, but I can’t seem to get any further than that. Honestly, it’s a habit I don’t want to break.
What do you do when your habits seriously hurt your health? Smoking, drinking excessively, eating fatty or sugary foods–not to mention addiction to illegal drugs or pain medication–are all activities many of us participate in, but when your health is deteriorating due to these habits, how do you stop?
What if you are the partner, friend or child of the person with these harmful habits? How do you help the person? When is the time you step back…or turn your back?
In August of last year, I wrote this: “But…shouldn’t there be a time when we finally say, ‘I will no longer take care of you. I will remain your partner until death, but I can no longer help you if you refuse to help yourself.'”
I’ve discovered that there is indeed a time when I will say these sentences and that time is now.
After a recent hospital stay for my husband due to a medication failure, a diagnosis of congestive heart failure and a disastrous and degrading (to me) doctor’s appointment, I am stepping back. It is now up to my husband to take control of his life. He knows all of this now. We’ve had a “come to Jesus” meeting as my old boss, Bill, used to say. I won’t attend any more of his appointments unless he is physically unable to drive. When he asked if I would go to an appointment if he asked me specifically to go, I told him I’d have to answer that later. Right now, the answer is “no.” I have a list of his medications, but it’ll be up to him to let me know if anything changes. When he asked me yesterday if he should pick up canned hash to have for breakfast the next day, I told him I wasn’t answering those questions anymore. He could make that decision, that choice. And he did.
Does all of this seem too personal to put out into the universe? It is. It’s also really difficult. I know I have at least one friend who understands everything I’m feeling right now, and maybe there are more people out there who get it, too. You’re not alone.
Marriage is hard. Relationships are hard. Parenting is hard. Co-parenting is even harder. Watching someone hurt themselves when you know it affects more than just themselves, is rage-inducing.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself falling back into that bad habit of emotional eating. I’ve always done that when I’m angry, and these past 2 weeks certainly proved that. Fortunately, I’ve been able to attempt running once more, and that has helped my moods tremendously. I wish it could help everyone, but at least I’m able to find patience as the result of my exercise and can listen to my son and husband when they need me. At this point I’m not sure I can do much else.
I know for a fact that some people will read this and think I’m heartless or selfish and should do more to support my partner. “You’ve been married for 25 years! You don’t just sit back while their health is in jeopardy!” But what if your own health, albeit mental health, is in jeopardy? What about your child’s? The old man can do this. He is completely capable of making good choices. I don’t care if you think I’m heartless or selfish. I know I’m not. I love my husband. I will until I die. I am still here. But right now, he is the only one who can help himself. Will I give him a pat on the back when he does well? Absolutely! But will I criticize him when he doesn’t? Nope. I’ll do my damnedest to just nod my head and say “ok.”
These changes will be damn difficult for everyone in our household. I will hope for the best, but expect the worst, which is my usual M.O. 😉 Now enjoy this song about trying to find some hope in a messy situation. Hugs to you all.
See Holly Run 