About 4 hours ago, as I sat quietly at her bedside after being informed by her sister that the nursing center called about Linda vomiting twice, she did so a third time. Witnessing her throwing up was a shocking step downward into the harsh reality of her impending demise. It actually woke her; she opened her eyes and looked as helpless as I’ve ever seen anybody look. I worry that this is not going to end peacefully. That it’s going to get more and more intense. I don’t want the kids having to experience this sort of thing. Yet I am fully committed to seeing this through in as engaged a manner as possible. It’s a commitment I made to myself shortly after that call and the diagnosis a few weeks after.
Why?
This whole situation is one massive paradox that I wrestle with daily, in ways that ‘common decency’ dictates I not voice. The fact for me though is that this is both a blessing and a curse, all at once. I feel bad about being somewhat detached from the devastation it’s supposed to be when you care about somebody who is passing away. I am not, in any sense, happy that she is dying. It’s an awful fate she’s had to face throughout this whole year. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Which she is not… well, ... maybe she’s not … I guess I don’t know what defines an ‘enemy’ in the realm of all the history between us. And that uncertainty is part of my dilemma.
All one need do is revisit my numerous posts in the years following our separation and divorce to see a pretty clear pattern of frustration, resentment and distancing. I cursed her name several times during those years, perhaps even muttering on occasion that I wished she were dead but certainly never meaning it. To be honest and transparent, there were times during our marriage that I did imagine that if she were to die before me, I’d reclaim my life and identify, and be able to move on without feeling some lingering and substantial loss. I realize that is considered “awful” to admit to, but it is true. It is what I felt due to the stress and struggles trying to adapt to an environment I just wasn’t capable of functioning in. Neither of us were.
Does that make me an awful person? Or, am I simply one of the millions of people who find themselves in situations they’re unable or unwilling to endure the ramifications of getting out of, and instead, simply wait it out? I certainly did not hate her, but I did not love her in the way a healthy marriage would warrant. I seconded guessed my role in its failure, for years. It wasn’t until marriage counseling helped me understand that my repeated questioning of whether I was the narcissist in the relationship was something no narcissist was capable of even considering. She frequently called us “roommates,” and it was true. She once insuinated she would need to have an affair to feel a genuine connection, and I replied that I understood, and would not blame her if she did. That's pretty fucked up. I would sit at night writing on the couch while she’d fall asleep watching TV. I knew how empty and lonely she felt. I myself felt an obligation to try to bridge that gap, fill that void and establish a connection. All while being stopped by my conscious understanding that it was simply not something that existed between us or could be forced for any sustainable period of time. We shared significant history without significant presence. We lived at the surface, not in the depths.
Before her cancer, had she written to tell me that she’d found an overseas job opportunity, was moving, needed me to take care of the kids 100% and in exchange, she’d relieve me of any further financial obligations, I’d have been okay with it. If she had added that I could also keep the house too, I’d have been grateful and even felt vindicated, given that it was obtained by my hard work and income alone. I would have moved on with my life without any regrets beyond the already accepted loss of the opportunity to have reconciled our differences amicably, and established a friendship based on years of living together and experiencing so much of life.
Yet there I am, sitting at her side, holding her hand, reassuring her that I’ll take care of our children, and telling her she’s made a difference in all of our lives. That she can move on to whatever lies ahead for her without fear or regret.
I question my motives every day. Every. Single. Day. Her passing away relieves me of what might have been decades of continual judgment and accusations, the kids routinely being put in the middle, not to mention financial obligations to support her beyond anything reasonable. In essence, I have more to gain than lose in this whole experience. Except for my humanity and compassion. Which I am proud to say take precedence.
In the end, her wants, needs, faults, failures and unmet expectations are no different from mine, or at least, different in nature but not outnumbered. We are all a product of our experiences and our upbringing. Our hope, dreams and ambitions all stem from how we grew up, what we lost or missed out on, as well as what we had and want to replicate. She and I were not well-matched, and although I recognized the risks going into the marriage, I wasn’t confident enough in my perspective to adamantly walk away from something that might expand my insight and life experience. I am glad I did. I stayed in the marriage for as long as I did because I needed to develop, learn, grow and evolve. That’s the same reason I conceded to having children. I would not be where I am or who I am today had I not spent those 15 years with her, and I’m not sure I would be as enriched had I taken another path. All the anger, resentment and incredulity aside, I still care about her, and I know better than anybody else how awful this situation has been.
I owe this to my kids, her, and myself. I’ll never be able to face something I turn away from.
"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about I'm sure, but don't worry, you will someday."
- Lester Burnham