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I recently spent four wonderful days with a very nice, 70-year-old man whose wife passed away a year ago. And I can’t say that I wasn’t attracted to him. Or perhaps I was simply attracted to his healthy status and the companionship he offered.
He has been one of my husband’s friends since the early 1970s, and flew across the country for a visit. Mornings and evenings, his time was spent with my husband, who is confined to a hospital bed. During the days, I showed our guest around.
We went to a museum, took long walks along the Los Angeles River and had a lovely lunch overlooking the city — adventurous outings and leisurely restaurant meals I can no longer do with my husband. And while I enjoyed our culture and culinary experiences together, it was the mundane tasks we shared that brought me the most pleasure.
I enjoyed walking up and down the grocery store aisles looking for exotic cheeses, preparing dinner, having cocktails and laughing. These are activities I used to take for granted with a partner before my husband fell ill. By the end of his visit, I realized how much I envy this widower’s current life. He is able to start a new chapter, free of guilt. While the loss of a partner is very tough, he has a positive attitude that is contagious.
My life is the complete opposite. My husband is very much alive, yet suffers from a chronic brain tumor and is unable to use the right side of his body. My usual routine is filled with caregiving duties and keeping our household running.
Simple tasks like changing ceiling lightbulbs to the more complicated ones involving electrical wiring are now my responsibilities. Then there is the changing of air and water filters and tree trimming, things my husband usually handles. And, I am now in charge of finding, and hiring, handy persons to fix things I cannot.
Everything, and I mean everything, now falls on my shoulders, which are not very big and have begun to feel the weight of aging and being overwhelmed, balancing his needs, my needs, needs of our house. Having an able-bodied spouse brought me comfort. He helped string holiday lights, fixed wobbly kitchen chairs and often cooked all our meals. The before was soothing. The after is overwhelming.
Then, there is my social life, now that of a single woman. Fortunately, I never feel like a fifth wheel when going out with close friends that are couples. A table for five is usually the same size as a table for six. However, I do feel guilty for the husband at home, unable to be part of the joyful infusion of good conversations with good people.
Some days that guilt is just a flicker, like an elusive firefly. Other days it follows me around like a spotlight. While I do leave him for work and social engagements, I never leave him alone. When I’m not with him, another caregiver is there.
My husband and I often discuss his living condition. It’s obvious he still has a sense of humor. When I ask him if he misses me throughout the day, his constant answer is no, because I talk too much. He says I talk to the dog, to my clothes, to the food I am serving him. What he isn’t comprehending is that I miss talking to him. So, I do talk out loud a great deal. And I even answer myself — often pretending that he is answering me as he used to in the days before his illness.
To keep my sanity, I get away several times a year for long weekends. During those times, I check in daily with my husband. But I don’t blabber on excitedly about the gorgeous sunrise in Baja or the way the sun glimmers off the ocean. We talk about his health, the football game he watched, our dog.
Recently, he admitted that if our situation was reversed, he would be taking trips with his friends, making sure that I was well cared for in his absence. This confession relieved a bit of my guilt, but not all of it. Most of our time together is spent watching TV. Every night I make a cozy seat for myself near his hospital bed as we watch movies or a streaming series. Sometimes, I crawl into his bed and cuddle with him even though there has been no physical intimacy for years as his disease has progressed.
On a recent trip, I attended a concert featuring several musicians performing on acoustic guitars, I wished so hard for my husband to be at my side. Music had been his life. I could smell our youth in the air. I felt his presence even though I knew he was miles away in his bed. A few tears rolled down my cheeks.
Individuals not in my situation have no idea how difficult it is to balance guilt, love, caregiving and self-care. They probably feel sorry for my husband, who is stuck in our room. But I’m stuck, too, in a place where I am not free to come and go as I desire without the burden of guilt. Without wondering if I should be home sitting by his bedside as life passes me by.
I am only 76 years old, healthy and could be living a whole, full life.
Perhaps if I were a young woman, I could say there is plenty of time to sip a latte in Italy, take an African Safari or see the fall colors in New England. But when the future is shorter than the past, things look differently. I’m not sure what the future will bring. With his tumor growing at a snail’s pace, it’s possible my husband could live like this for years. I only know that living life as a widow while my husband is still alive is a balancing act.
I’m in a holding zone, which often spills into The Twilight Zone. Sometimes I wish this segment of my life would end. But do I really want that? I love my husband with all my heart. But I also love life. And I, too, like my husband’s friend, do want a new chapter, one that lightens this load.
Are any of you caring for a spouse? How's it going? Let us know in the comments below.
Tara Anand
Follow Article Topics: Marriage
