Jason J
My husband suffered a severe traumatic brain injury over ten years ago. He was not at fault in any way. Our children were eight and ten years old at the time and I was in my early thirties. After around seven months in hospitals, I brought my husband home as a diagnosed minimally conscious state patient who requires around the clock care. While I do have nursing, it is not consistent so I fill in several twelve hour shifts a week and have done so for ten years. Our children are grown now. They are healthy and well-rounded adults, for which I am abundantly grateful.
Losing my husband was the greatest heartache of my life, so far. He is here, but not. He loved me deeply and fully and we were best friends. I fully appreciated him in every way. He was in all ways my person and I was his. Not one thing in my life has brought me so much happiness and joy as meeting him and falling in love. We would have been married for thirteen years by the time he was injured, and while we are still technically married, it is hard to feel that way. Our relationship now is one of caregiver and patient. Our kids have moved out for work and college and to live their own lives, which I encouraged because I have not wanted to drag their lives down with our tragedy. They need to build their own futures and that has been my driving force from the moment the fog of initial shock lifted after my husband’s injury.
But goddamn if I am not unhappy. And sad. I am perpetually a small trigger from crying at any moment, and I was not a crier before this all happened. The unhappiness is now an integral part of me. Sadness is twisted into my core like bind weed around a willow. My thirties are long gone. He is fairly stable because he is cared for so well in his own home, so he will likely live another ten years or longer, and that means my forties will also be devoted to his care. I can not put him into an institution because to do so would wreck me completely. The internal conflict of seeing my life go away day by day spent caring for his body, the years falling away to never be regained while also wanting to give him the best care possible is something I can not allow myself to think about. It is too painful. I still love this man so much. I miss, I miss, I miss. I feel guilt for even mourning my thirties. I feel guilt for being surprised by how much my face has aged; I am stuck in 2014 when the injury happened. I could write so much more, but this is already too long.
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