Not saying those things are good, but please don't say 'work on those things and the pain will lose its purpose.' It's not true. This is what my life looks like after years of enduring this, not the other way around. There are times throughout these 10 years when my life has been active, social, productive, etc. And it didn't make any difference whatsoever to the pain.
This I have great empathy with. Sixteen years after my husband first became ill and the contrast between our lives then and now, in every sphere, is as stark as it is heartbreaking. Sure, we’re still here and still standing, but the loss and the fallout is unbelievable and oftentimes unbearable. Sometimes I feel that my situation is a black hole and that I’m fighting the event horizon. Sometimes I think this belief is complete nonsense. Mostly I vacillate between the two.
I’ve been reading about Vikings lately. I derive some comfort from their belief in Fate. Of course, we cannot know and inhabit this consciousness in its full meaning and glory, but still, I find myself possessed of greater courage when I rest myself there awhile. Here’s a quote from a site I enjoy:
“For the pagan Norse and other Germanic peoples, fate was the main force that determined the course of events in the universe. Much of what happened – from the overarching trajectory of time down to many particular occurrences in the lives of particular people – didn’t happen because of random chance or the consciously chosen intentions of the person who performed a causal action, but instead because it was fated to happen. Almost all beings were subject to fate – even the gods themselves. For all the fearsome power they had, the power of fate was greater still.
The paradigmatic model for this attitude was the way the gods were to approach their own doom at Ragnarok. Rather than mope or curse their fate, they were said to stand and fight until the last.”
I’m not saying you or I or anyone is Fated. I’m simply sharing some emotional driftwood that grants me a reprieve when I feel hopeless, inured to the well-intentioned kindness of others, and so sad I fear my bones will break from the sobbing.
My husband had a terrible accident a few weeks ago. It was due to Parkinson’s. He’d lost motor control (a symptom called Festination) and was running faster than I have ever seen him move. As I chased after him he simply lurched to the ground, hitting the tarmac with his face. By the time I reached him he was unconscious and lying in a pool of blood. I heard an engine and had to leave him to run along the road to stop a van from hitting him.
The day was freezing cold. We were in the middle of nowhere (one of those quaint old villages with old graveyards but no mobile/cell signal). Our gentle walk, the first one ventured as we’d been shielding for months, had turned into a grotesque nightmare.
But people, complete strangers were so kind. They appeared from nowhere, helping us and holding us safe till the ambulance arrived. It was a long and traumatic day. I waited in a hospital car park while a surgeon performed plastic surgery on my handsome boys lips. I had one of his teeth delicately wrapped in a tissue in my purse. Beyond any comprehension, life had escalated in its cruelty.
I’m still living with those aftershocks. My husband is traumatised. His fear is that this will happen again. We have the support of my family (his are shit), a great team of medical professionals and a Red Cross wheelchair because he is terrified of walking in case Festination strikes again. And with good reason. He’s fallen badly once in the front room, and yesterday I caught him before he fell in the bathroom.
How does anyone live with this?
The hyper-vigilance?
The emotional bruising?
The upcoming dental procedures?
The endless, pointless tweaking of medications?
A wheelchair?
How the hell can anyone wrap their head around this?
I don’t pen any of this as a league table of who is suffering the most. I trust you know me better than that Tyler. But I share these things because I understand, because it is nigh on impossible to cope and to keep coping. To keep on fucking smiling and being polite when all you want is for it to stop. Just fucking stop.
And it will. One day.
But between now and then?
I fall down. Sometimes such as now, I need to stay down for a time. I can’t face it. My spirit isn’t willing. But I will get up again. And I’ll fight. This girl, who used to be such a gentle and soft soul, finds herself back in the arena. Not a gladiator. Not a Viking. Just a girl in a council flat drowning in tragedy and love and the surety that she’ll stay true to the bitter end.
No illusions. Not anymore.
Simply the sweetness of doing what love would do.
Simpatico Darling.
