Royal City farm boy

B is feeling a little bit like Job this week. It's been rough. More bad news last night, of the devastating and unchangeable sort. The rotten part of it is that we had such a nice day at work. All I could do was hold him.

The plus side (if you can stretch enough to find a plus side amongst all the hard times) is that it's brought us closer together. I ran to town to buy him some smokes, and when I got home he was more than ready to call it a night. Ran out all the kids that didn't belong in the house, closed the shop down, and went to bed. He was lying there with a look in his eyes like a drowning man going down for the last time. I thought maybe I could hold him for a while, that we could make it all right for a time that way. And it was. But then we fell into something more, something earth-shattering... and it took me back to that first time, when I felt like I didn't exist anymore as a separate unit, that we had become one creature, mindless, breathing and moving in unison. I'm not sure if you would call it lovemaking or lifesaving, but whatever it was, it was a religious experience.

I call him "beautiful man", and he always says "I'm just an old Royal City farm boy". And in a way he is right, but what he doesn't understand is that he's so much more. I laid there last night after he fell asleep, listening to him breathe and thinking of all the stories he's told me. I wish I would have been able to meet his mother, to know the woman who shaped this man, who loved him and cherished him and brought him forth into the world as this wonderful creature, just to say "Thank you".

I know that people say this is the honeymoon period, but I can't imagine a time when this man will fail to astound me, to make me catch my breath as he walks into a room. I can't imagine what prompted God to send us to each other at this late stage in our lives, but I'm not about to argue. I'm so thankful for this, all of this.

On another tack, I've been keeping track on the PD bulletin board, lurking and listening to the other caregivers. Sometimes I feel like an imposter, and indeed, on the rare occasion that I post, they don't seem to take me seriously. I'm far from caregiving at this point. It's early in the game, compared to where those people are at. Their spouses have become patients to them, divested of all of the sharing that comes in a partnership. I know that some day B will be where some of their spouses are, but it is far on the horizon at this point. Still, I can see some small things here and there: a sleepy moment on a long car drive and a veer onto the shoulder strip; a momentary freeze while he was getting up from a long couch sit; the fatigue that hits him like a wrecking ball when things have been too stressful for too long. But for now, we're okay. I'm a hip to steady him in the shower, and arms to find solace in when it's too much.

And he is B, ever B. My beloved man. My beautiful, intelligent, charming farm boy, the keeper of my heart.