Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Until Inconvenience Do Us Part

I think I'm about to be single. Or, at least "separated". Lady declines to join me when we hafta move back into Mom's house.

"I can't be a nursemaid, and I can't bear her times ten following me around and digging through my stuff," she sez.

Overwhelmed by her empathy and compassion, as well as her can-do spirit and commitment to our almost 13-year-old marriage, I say little. Inside, I fume.

I could write a caustic diatribe on how this is a betrayal on every significant level, but I won't. I won't point out that when she was diagnosed with MS I took it in stride. I won't mention that in one of his last acts on this earth my dad had a wheelchair ramp built around the side of the house for her, anticipating the day that the house would be ours. I won't point out that Mom made the down payment on our nice little condo as a late wedding gift. I won't point out how fucked-up and selfish it is to abandon the person you ostensibly love right when things get tough.

I love her more than I've ever loved anyone. (Not true. I loved Laura Billings more, but she's dead, by all accounts. Lupus. I have a knack for picking the afflicted, I guess.) But still, I love my wife deeply and sincerely, but this pronouncement makes me question everything. Maybe she's off her meds. Maybe she's just on the rag. How sexist is that? Yeah, well.

I was implicitly counting on her help. I need her. For her hands and back and brain, sure, but also for her delight in the Simpsons, her love of the New York Dolls, the smell of her hair. For the way she makes the best coffee on earth. Her unerring ability to locate anything I've misplaced, a trait we attribute to "the homing uterus". For 13 years of in-jokes and do-you-remembers.

At the moment, I'm kinda numb. In a way, I feel liberated. Unfettered. But I also feel very, very alone. I've become accustomed to being half of a dyad, and this is going to take some getting used to.

I love her. I wish her the best. But without her, I'll be better able to make snap decisinos, to suffer minor indignities, and to grit my teeth and push on through.

So I tell myself.


Dave Miller said...

Earlier your wrote about writing. I truly enjoy your writing. I found your blog because of a link at Hammer of Truth and as a fellow Libertarian was checking the goods. The goods are great. I am terribly sorry for the hell that you are going through. I can't relate one bit. Luckily my family is all still healthy. My family has had to deal with me of course... and my raging 12 years of alcohol/family abuse. Again, I can't relate. I've stopped to read your posts the last few nights before shuffling off to bed and it is, in a sense, a good way to end my day. I mean that with all due respect. I have a greater sense for what's important after reading your words and feeling your thoughts through the bits and bites on my computer screen. I wish you well. Our parents sacrificed for us on such a level that we can't comprehend (unless we have children of our own [I don't]). To turn from then as they get older, to not help them is not fair. Taking care of your mother is the only thing you can do... and it's comendable.

Good luck.

Bitter Old Punk said...

Dave, it means more than I can convey to have smart people like you think enough of my vapid scribblings to leave comments like that. I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you enjoy what I'm doing.

So why haven't you linked to me on YOUR blog? Huh? Huh? ;)

Dave Miller said...


I am in the middle of a redesign. Consider yourself added!

Bitter Old Punk said...

Thanks! Looking forward to the redesign.