I think that when my S.O. was off visiting family, I didn't worry so much about him because I knew his family was taking good care of him. Now that he is back at this other end of the country, where he has no one but me, I guess I feel like I am always fretting. He is kind of frail. We don't live together. We talk several times a day by phone. I am over to see him frequently.

I don't really feel depressed . . . not at all. I feel strained. I didn't realize how much I worry about him, until his welfare was safely in the hands of his adult children. After a few weeks of that, I felt like the weight of the world was off me. I didn't even know why I felt so good. Maybe this analysis is wrong.

I don't begrudge feeling concerned about someone that I am so very fond of. Maybe it is a lot to carry. The relationship wasn't good enough for us to stay under one roof. So I arranged for us to have separate roofs. He seems content enough with that. He wasn't happy with us living together, either. But he knows that, if the least little thing goes wrong, I am right there . . . in the hospital or at his apartment . . . for as often and as long as needed.

I used to think that the nice thing about not being married was that there never has to be a divorce. Instead, I agreed to an adoption, without even realizing that was what I was doing. For the next 49 weeks, his adult children won't have a care in the world with respect to him . . . other than the occasional phone call.

Meanwhile, I'm afraid to travel anywhere distant . . . for fear of leaving him alone.

What a stupid mess I made of my life. I sure wasn't the least bit clever.

I must sound awful.