that I am not confronted with either sensations of loss of my wife or personal pain with the recovery process from my heart surgery infection.
Most certainly I did not want to be alone. I did not want to be coming home to an empty house (a house we had striven to turn into our home).
I did not want to be eating my meals alone nor sitting alone in the evenings.
I did not want to be going to bed alone, nor waking alone, to go downstairs to an empty quiet house.
Like the character in Cast Away I have only the VAC pump ticking away as my companion. Of course I called it Wilson.
The discomfort of my chest wound (opened up to attempt removal of whatever may be infected) makes the daily chores of cooking, cleaning and washing all the more arduous than they would be if it was just me coping with her loss.
I struggle to stay alive and keep my health good to maximize my healing from the wounds the surgeon gave me (in order to keep me from dying from the infection I got from the surgery intended to save my life).
But to what end do I struggle? To be alone? To live without her by my side?
I live but I am barely living.
The silence is broken only by the struggle to remain alive and healthy and keep working.
The silence and absence of communication from many who professed to be my friends makes me wonder if they are really that? Perhaps they are simply unable to cope with the burden of calling me from time to time to say "hi"?
Why do these people remain distant and invisible when I could use their support and love? On occasions when we meet they say "you know we are thinking about you" ... sadly I don't. I must have missed out those telepathic genes.
When I have struggled with long and difficult tasks before there has always been a goal. When I have struggled to survive before there has always been a reason to live.
Am I struggling now simply out of habit?
My mother in law tells me that no one knows how sad she is, that no one knows how much she has lost.
Well I think I might have an idea.
If ever I find a point to my life without her you'll be the second to know (after me that is).
"come sweet slumber, enshroud me in thy purple cloak. ... Huh doesn't even rhyme"