This year, my Memorial Day weekend was bracketed by funerals. It began with a service for the 56-year-old sister of my dear friend. The funeral home was packed and there were beautiful speeches and stories, laughter and sobbing. I held the hand of another dear friend as we listened to our “soul sister” speak through her tears, telling the room about her big sister. Her death was a shock to all of us, since her illness was so brief.

The weekend ended with the funeral of my hospice friend. I had been visiting him and his wife at their home nearly every week for 2 1/2 years, and although he was 80 and had been ill for some time, his death still felt very much unexpected. His wife had invited me to his funeral and to their home afterwards. The service was led by the hospice chaplain and it was filled with Bible quotes, a few songs, and both his wife and daughter stood up to briefly speak. It was a small affair.

As I drove to my hospice friend’s home, I stopped to get a coffee and cry in my car. I wasn’t feeling bereft for my hospice friend, but for his wife. Watching her through this entire process–the entire 2 1/2 years–has always made me look at my relationship with my husband and his illness.

When your spouse is chronically ill, you do have a relationship with the sickness itself. It’s not a great one. Mostly I hate it. And yet there have been times that I was grateful, but more from spite. The anger I have at my husband for his unhealthy habits throughout our marriage (and beforehand) has burst through over the past four years. That’s the part of me that was happy he was sick–a justification for what I had been saying over the years, or when I begged him to take his insulin and he didn’t, or asked him to go for a walk with me and he refused.

But now? Now I just hate it. My husband is always fatigued, often in pain, can do very little. He’s currently in a depressive episode, too, which makes everything so much worse. Over the weekend, in between the funerals I attended, we had a conversation about our son and what his future might hold. “Senator Chapin,” I said, grinning. My husband nodded and replied, “President Chapin has a great ring to it. But I’ll be long gone before that could ever happen.”

I was stunned momentarily because the look on his face was this mix of sorrow and regret and I immediately just fought back with, “Well, I could be dead, too!”

The rest of that day I had a nugget of guilt in my stomach. Why didn’t I just acknowledge that yes, he will probably die much sooner than later? Because although I freely talk about his likely death, talking with him is much more difficult. He typically doesn’t acknowledge how sick he really is, so when he finally did, I just batted it away.

That night I apologized to him. He said it didn’t bother him, but he also didn’t really want to talk more about it. I missed my chance to have an open conversation that night. Hopefully I won’t squander that again.

After arriving at my hospice friend’s home, I got to know their friends and family a bit better and we had lovely conversations about my friend and how they knew him. There were also two other widows in attendance, besides my friend’s wife, and they were talking about how they had been coping over the past few months. One woman has been a widow for two years and has been navigating this new world the longest of the three women, and was giving out advice left and right. I wanted to tell her to be quiet and let my friend’s wife find her way. I kept thinking, “He’s been dead for 10 days. Let the woman catch her breath and just be there for her. Stop telling her to join book groups and grief groups, for fuck’s sake.”

I know their heart was in the right place, but I could feel my own anxiety ratcheting up. Will this be my life? Will I have to take time off from work, take care of my husband for several years while watching him become more feeble, then after his death I’ll have people telling me not to make any big decisions, but encouraging me to get out and meet people and not be alone?

I had to take a few breaths and calm myself and just continue to listen to everyone talk. My friend’s wife is a tremendously strong woman and I know that she’ll be ok. She does have a good support system and I may be part of that.

When I got up to leave, my friend’s wife took me aside. She and I have grown close over the past few years. She knows my husband has congestive heart failure and Type II diabetes and understands that he will not live to be 80 like her husband. She held my arms and looked me in the eye. She told me she knows how hard it is dealing with my husband’s illness, his depression, his what seems to be apathy about his own healthcare. “But he’s still here, Holly. You can pinch him. You can talk with one another. He’s still here.”

My eyes were welling up as she spoke to me. I hugged her before I left.

When I got home, my husband was resting. He got up then and we talked in the kitchen while he worked on dinner. (He’s still trying to make dinner a few times a week.) I told him a bit about the service, then I went over to him and pinched his arm. “Ow! What the heck was that for?” I laughed and hugged him and told him what my friend’s widow said to me. He nodded then with a sad smile.

I am trying hard to appreciate the time I have with Wal. I get very frustrated by a myriad of things, as anyone married I’m sure can attest to, but the widow’s words are reminiscent of what someone said to me before my parents died. That day I was feeling a bit frustrated that my weekend was filled with visiting my mom in the nursing home and then taking care of my dad for a bit the next day. It honestly sounds so shitty to say that out loud now, but I was being honest. And a colleague said to me then, “I get that, but man, I wish my parents were still here for me to take care of them.”

I never once complained about that again. My weekends were often filled visiting my parents (and still parenting my own kiddo) and I felt pretty stretched, but I did start to appreciate it more. So I’m going to try and do the same now.

But I’m also pretty confident you haven’t heard the last from me on this topic. 😉

Hugs to you all, my friends, and as always, thanks for listening. ❤

Oh! And if you’re wondering what my husband’s “Forever Chair” looks like, I’ve updated the post with pics.