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What We Had
Jun. 1st, 2017 11:17 amOver the course of our long life together, more than 43 years, there'd been so many things that I'd thought would be amazing for us to share. But we never did.
Every time that there'd been something like that, especially if it implied any sort of closeness, she rejected it. Books, music, movies. Even the soccer games which had been such a big part of our grandson's life.
And then there was the series of journal entries, about the two of us, that I'd put together in recent months. Which I'd printed out and put in a manilla envelope and handed to her, one night, while driving her to work.
She'd said to take it back home with me and to leave it on her bed. That she'd read it when she got back home because she wouldn't have time for it at work.
And so I'd put it on her bed. And then looked in on it, every few days.
When I knew that it hadn't been touched in more than a week, I took it back, knowing that it most likely never would be.
It was called "What We Have" and I found it again, back at the house, after she'd died.
It was meant as a thoughtful and conciliatory reflection on what we did have, what we had managed to share, at the distance we'd lived, as a couple.
Finally, I understood that she hadn't wanted that. Hadn't wanted anything, from me, in a very long time.
Not until she understood that she was very sick. That in this life, what was left of it, I was all that she was ever likely to have...
LPK
@Dreamwidth
6.1.2017
Every time that there'd been something like that, especially if it implied any sort of closeness, she rejected it. Books, music, movies. Even the soccer games which had been such a big part of our grandson's life.
And then there was the series of journal entries, about the two of us, that I'd put together in recent months. Which I'd printed out and put in a manilla envelope and handed to her, one night, while driving her to work.
She'd said to take it back home with me and to leave it on her bed. That she'd read it when she got back home because she wouldn't have time for it at work.
And so I'd put it on her bed. And then looked in on it, every few days.
When I knew that it hadn't been touched in more than a week, I took it back, knowing that it most likely never would be.
It was called "What We Have" and I found it again, back at the house, after she'd died.
It was meant as a thoughtful and conciliatory reflection on what we did have, what we had managed to share, at the distance we'd lived, as a couple.
Finally, I understood that she hadn't wanted that. Hadn't wanted anything, from me, in a very long time.
Not until she understood that she was very sick. That in this life, what was left of it, I was all that she was ever likely to have...
LPK
@Dreamwidth
6.1.2017
