Told him to seriously consider a divorce.
I had family and friends, I could figure something out. He never did.
In fact he dug in his heels and cared more, loved me stronger and became a
patient man before my eyes.
He has never missed a doctors visit and for sure there have been many.
He dresses me every morning and puts on my shoes and socks without comment or complaint.
He makes breakfast and then cleans up and goes to work only to come back at lunch to make me something again.
He has to put me in the shower every time I need one and waits to take me out.
He cooks dinner every night and buys all of the groceries, does all the laundry, pays all the bills and walks both dogs each day without comment or complaint.
He has never lost his temper, blamed me or asked God ” why him?”
He just shows up every day doing whatever needs to be done. He says” this illness has given him the second chance to be the man he has always wanted to be.” My family now calls him ,Saint Michael.
When the name first surfaced I thought it was a dig on me and how hard I must be to put up with. Now, I realize it was all about him and how present he’d become and how gentle.
My family is deeply grateful and that is at least in part because I am so difficult.
So I sit here in the dark and write this at 4:00am from my hospital bed and wonder how to be a good wife.
I don’t think I’ve ever been one before.
Okay I know I’ve never been one, whatever.
I know he needs one, deserves one, has earned one.
I am forty-three, we’ve been married eight years next month, shocking that this is just now coming to me.
I have no excuse but can think of so many!
I brought the Bible to Chicago that Michael originally picked up at Vinings Lake.
My daily one has had it and I’ve read it so many times that I’m not really getting anything out of it any more. So, I brought Michaels’ up.
I’ll read it fresh, cover to cover.
It’s been following me.
I’m gleaning something very personal each day out of each book.
It’s uncanny the parallels on most days.