[Rose76]

My S/O is quite a bit older than I. We've been involved for a good long tumultuous time. We've lived together several times, for years at a time, only to separate over and over. I've always wished I could have fallen in love with someone else, only to find it impossible to quite fall out of love with him.

I'm always on the verge of being through with him forever. I was completely done with him yesterday. This eve, taking the trash out, I passed the iron shepherd's pole he put up, stuck deeply into the dirt, outside my kitchen window - for me to hang my bird feeder on. Now I'm choked with grief.

I nursed him time and again, over the years, through desperate health crises, defying death to take him from my fierce hold. Each time he drew on some tremendous store of resilience and made flamboyant recoveries. He is not so well now, but it is not a health crisis. He is simply becoming worn out and appearing older than his age . . . after decades of having a physique and good looks that film stars would envy. There will be no flamboyant recovery. There is nothing I can do to wrest him from the throws of this current assault. His breathing weakens. His heart pumps less strongly. His walking is very difficult. He cannot seem to stay awake, even through the day. Recently, I had to help him up from the floor.

I've become very impatient with him, angry and scolding. That's how I was yesterday . . . inexplainably cruel. How dare he become weak when I'm weak, myself, lately, and need help. I told him that he must exercise and improve his diet, and he must start now. He must not get any weaker. I implored him . . . with sterness. "You'll be in a nursing home, if you don't do as I say . . . and you won't like it." He bore my admonitions with patience and meekness, such as never before were at all characteristic of him. Thusly, he bears this "winding down of the machine" that is making him seem partly gone, even while he is yet here. He's already part left and, realizing it, I got so mad. He had no right to win my heart, long ago, knowing I would probably outlive him a long time . . . and that he'ld leave me nothing.

Always I thought something sudden and critical would take him . . . not like this . . . slowly and gradually leaving me . . . a little more each day . . . drifting away on an excruciatingly slow current. No medicine treats this. No therapy stems this waning of strength. Meek as a lamb, this most impatient of men, accepts his daily more faltering abilities. Finding "depression" incomprehensible (a source of conflict between us,) he takes satisfaction in each success he manages . . . getting out a glass of milk, washing some dishes, finding a good movie on the TV (though he can't stay awake through it.) I hold my breath seeing him walk unsteadily. (Why won't he use the walker I cleared a path for?)

We fought because he wouldn't understand my being depressed . . . my suicidality since losing my career. He wouldn't understand any of that, this man for whom each moment of life is accepted as a privilege. He wouldn't understand my being so burdened by disappointment . . . this irreverent, irreligious man, who instinctively finds living a holy duty. Meekly, he shoulders the heaviness of age, that I make no lighter with my miserable complaining. I could cut out my tongue. May I keep that sentiment long enough to be nicer for awhile.

Why couldn't God have sent me someone younger . . . to give me what help I needed? God saw that I would not value my life (I haven't in a long time . . . and resent each painful, angst-ridden day I endure.), so He sent me an example of wholesome thinking to learn from. I'm hard to teach. On goes the lesson.

Looking at pictures of us in better times, vibrant memories come to mind. It's not true that he leaves me nothing . . . I just fear it will not be enough for my impoverished soul . . . that he tells me I made poor needlessly. It seems he's right. My attitude is dreadful. I'll have to try and do better. For months I haven't even tried. I've embraced self-pity, ignoring his courage in the face of much daily tribulation. On our last trip to the grocery store, he admitted he'ld have to use the store scooter next time. The walking is too hard. He'll try, until it's impossible. Every day, he'll try.

[astenon]

Rose,
I'm in tears. I'm so sorry to hear of the increasing frailty of your SO. The love you have for him and for each other shines through in your post.

I'm willing you to be strong for him and for yourself. My heart is with you.

[Rose76]

Thank you, astenon. I feel bad today. I thought that I would wake up stronger, but I didn't. It seems to me that everything good in my life is in the past. It feels very sad, and I am depressed. He is not, though.

[hamster-bamster]

You write so beautifully, Rose.

Not that my saying it would help...

[Rose76]

It is nice to hear that, hamster. Thank you.

[estel]

That was beautifully written...an unconditional love from one human being that I have yearned for. I wish you both the best!

[unaluna]

Lessons are tough, aren't they? Beautiful insight, Rose

[Rose76]

It is tough. Lessons are tough for the hard headed. That's me. I'm learning to be more docile to what life teaches. I have to, or I will just be miserable.

Today, I just decided to stop the self-indulgent pity party . . . at least for today. I was surprised at how good the day seemed to become. I attended to some neglected things and found myself humming contentedly. Tomorrow can be pleasant, too, if I just open up to that possibility.

He called me today and said he's cooking a good stew for me tomorrow. I'll bring over some nice bread to go with it. Maybe, I'll get a special desert. We've been a week apart . . . and now he does this nice thing for me. Peeling the potatoes is not easy for him. He has one partially paralyzed hand. He'll work on his stew, hoping I'll like it. I guess that's what love is.

I won't be sad that he doesn't cook much anymore. I'll be grateful for tomorrow. A day at a time . . .