A Quiet War
Oct. 30th, 2018 01:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thisnewdayOn his last day, John Steinbeck was at home in the uptown apartment he shared with his wife Elaine.
He'd been bed-ridden, off and on, for some weeks and there was a private-duty nurse with them to help with his care.
It was his last day and Elaine had sat with him, through the morning, and read to him.
As I read this, to myself, I knew the feeling. Had a sense, from my own experience, of how those moments were for them.
And then Elaine climbed into the bed to hold and comfort him.
And then I cried and couldn't read any more.
Because my wife had asked me to do that for her, not when she was dying, but near enough to the end that it would've been a comfort to both of us.
I had made excuses not to, something about "it wouldn't be comfortable, there wasn't room enough," whatever.
And so I didn't, and missed this chance for both of us.
Because, in the end, it became a quiet, violent war which we fought together but in silence because she could no longer speak and in the same room but hardly able to touch.
And so she fought, we fought, to the very end.
And then we lost. She lost the fight and we lost her.
And I can't forgive myself for not having comforted her in the way that she had asked...
LPK
Dreamwidth
10.30.2018
He'd been bed-ridden, off and on, for some weeks and there was a private-duty nurse with them to help with his care.
It was his last day and Elaine had sat with him, through the morning, and read to him.
As I read this, to myself, I knew the feeling. Had a sense, from my own experience, of how those moments were for them.
And then Elaine climbed into the bed to hold and comfort him.
And then I cried and couldn't read any more.
Because my wife had asked me to do that for her, not when she was dying, but near enough to the end that it would've been a comfort to both of us.
I had made excuses not to, something about "it wouldn't be comfortable, there wasn't room enough," whatever.
And so I didn't, and missed this chance for both of us.
Because, in the end, it became a quiet, violent war which we fought together but in silence because she could no longer speak and in the same room but hardly able to touch.
And so she fought, we fought, to the very end.
And then we lost. She lost the fight and we lost her.
And I can't forgive myself for not having comforted her in the way that she had asked...
LPK
Dreamwidth
10.30.2018
