Parting is such sweet sorrow

As my wife lays in bed, I make her a cup of tea. I think about all those years ago when we said “in sickness and in health.” I remember smiling into her eyes as I said the words. I remember holding her hands in mine, feeling like we were wrapped in a love so strong it would keep out all the ugly in the world forever.

But forever is a long time. And ugly didn’t creep in. It burst out our mouths and lived right there with us.

No one ever tells you how hard every day can be living with someone. Getting used to annoying habits, divvying up chores, trying to keep old friends. Arguing over toilet seat etiquette, crumbs on the counter, or how to put dishes in the dishwasher. No one ever tells you that adding a kid in the mix can spell disaster if you still argue over the toilet seat.

Then came house hunting. Growing family, needed more space… I think the real estate agent started a pool in her office: The odds were not in our favor. We had knock down, screaming fights about what we needed in a house. Forget what we could afford. But we did manage to buy a house. Ugly came along as part of the family.

By the birth of our third child, I’m not sure we loved each other anymore. It was all used up in worrying about paying bills, constant exhaustion and who was going to do what when and where the fuck were you until 3 am, Billy? Like I wasn’t supposed to have a life with my friends anymore just because we were married with children. I mean, I get it, it’s not easy taking care of three kids and keeping house, cooking and cleaning. But damn, I commuted four hours a day and worked long hours so she could stay home with the kids and we could live in her fucking dream house, and sometimes I just wanted to have a drink with the guys without getting my head handed to me when I got home.

And now this. She’s so sick she's withering away before my eyes and I keep thinking about those words we said so long ago. She could live another 20, 30 or even 40 years the doctors say, but she'll need constant care. I’ve stuck by her through hell, but am I supposed to keep sticking, watching her fade away and with her any hope of being happy with what life I have left to live? I don't think so...

So, that’s what got me here, holding her as she sips a cup of her favorite chamomile tea laced with a little something to help her sleep with the angels. Parting is such sweet sorrow…