I guess I should happy that I have as many pictures of Carlton as I do. Even if, like this one, the photo is totally undistinguished.
There was a column in the Washington Post earlier this month – I don’t know if you can get past the Post’s paywall – I was my husband’s caregiver as he was dying of cancer. It was the best seven months of my life. And, I have to agree with that. The last couple of years of our lives together were the best. Especially the last 6 months – after he got his diagnosis of the deadly Merkel Cell Carcinoma on top of everything else.
We always liked each other. Most of the time we loved each other. We were never unhappy. But, it wasn’t until the last two years that we needed each other. We both put too much stock in being “self supporting through our own contributions”. Or “I got along just fine before you showed up”.
Illness, even when the illness was ignored and/or denied changed all that. Carlton no longer kept me around for rainy afternoons and cold nights. I no longer kept him around to ward off boredom. We needed each other. He needed me for life support and medical care and to navigate treatment options. I needed him to gently guide me towards my new life. We needed each other to ward off fear.
Life was very dear then. Everyday a gift.
Hugs xx
So beautifully said.
This post sounds like the making of a book! You’ve already got the photos and years of posts as an outline.