Past Imperfect

I miss my husband. I miss our conversations, and all the things we did together: our walks, our adventures, our shared loves, the things we discovered together. I miss reading & discussing books, watching & talking about plays, cooking together, taking random courses together in order to learn how to make cheese, build a pizza oven, or more effectively use a compass. I even miss our differences. I just miss him, and us. 

The end of the Pathfinder walk, a 46 miles-in-a-day-walk (50 by the time we walked to and from our B & B). Exhausted, but smiling, and ready for a pint. 

Just to be clear, my husband is still alive. 

And he’s still my husband. And I speak of him in the present tense: Doug loves pie. Doug loves music. Doug has a great sense of humour.

The end of our Hadrian's Wall Walk, which we added to in order to make it a true coast-to-coast. 

It breaks my heart when people refer to him in the past, though I understand why they do. He is not the person we used to know. And past imperfect is the correct choice, alas, for many of his loves and hobbies. He used to play the banjo and bagpipes. He used to be a voracious reader. He used to be a talented writer and editor, and he used to have a beautiful singing voice. He used to bake all our bread, and make jam, and preserve pickles, and . . . and I’ll stop before I just list all the things he is no longer able to do, because that will only lead to sadness.

The transition I made from wife to wife-caregiver was difficult for both of us, and the transition from wife-caregiver to caregiver even more so. This new transition I’m making (slowly, reluctantly, as if I have any voice in the matter at all) from caregiver to stranger is difficult only for me; he is unaware. That gives me some comfort. 

He sometimes looks at me, smiles, and says “hello!” as if he’s pleased to see me. Just as often he looks at one of his professional caregivers, or a housekeeper, or another resident, smiles, and says “hello!” in the same way. I’m truly glad he’s so pleased to see so many people. We’re both introverts, but he used to be the social one - great at telling jokes, and making small talk, and listening, and mixing drinks, and hosting gatherings. We used to be a great team. 

I am super lucky - truly blessed - to have friends I can ring in tears. After a recent incident at the long term care home, I called a best friend who listened to me, comforted me, and then reflected that Doug is not the man I once knew. Sometimes I need to be reminded that his reality and mine are different. And that it is OK for me to grieve the loss of the man I used to know. 

I used to love him;  I love him still.