But such, it was written, is the nature of truth, it only wants, and it only needs, the liberty of appearing. Truth, when it embraces a loving couple when one is dying, is hard to confront - do you, as the caregiver, suggest it is all right to let go and we who love you will be all right or do you suggest fighting on through the pain you, as a caregiver, cannot comprehend? There is no right answer. One sleeps, wakes and moves through the day like ordinary people but it is not ordinary when your soul mate is dying - you can ignore it but you cannot deny it - it is real. Real is no fun. Paris was fun, sailing was fun, seeing three guys and a gal grow up as neat people was fun - dying and care giving is not fun and we did not sign up for this - nobody did but it is there. She just woke up from a fitful, pain filled quasi sleep - I asked what can I do but the pain masked what, just a year ago, would have been a bit of snappy repartee but, now, is a whimper of pain.
We are not the first, nor certainly the last, who will go through this as a loving couple but it is the first time we have experienced it. For some reason, that makes us special, at least to us. Our loving children go on with their lives, appropriately so, and express constant loving concern, but we deal with it every minute of every very long day. As a song writer once wrote, "the night is as long as six weeks on Paris Island" and every night in our loving home is much longer than many more weeks anywhere.
We shall, as they say, overcome. The love is consummate and the caring is forever. But the life we knew and the fun times are no more - everyone will experience this at some point - it may not be twenty months of agony but it will happen to all of us - one hopes it will happen to you, as with us, in a very loving environment, surrounded by family and good friends. It makes it all very worthwhile.
And then, she died peacefully at the Lund Family Hospice.
