On Friday, I went shopping and stayed out for lunch. It started with a bath on Wednesday and a quick trip to the grocery store. Two days later, i was ready to hit the town.
What took so long?
Accepting that my fiancee’s family could take care of her for at least a few hours — food, medication, anything that might happen — while I went out to do something completely unrelated.
It’s almost two weeks since the last big crisis. The medical team sent her home, it was okay with them.
But that safety at home is, to my mind, the result of my constant vigilance. It isn’t all me, of course. There’s God, there’s community, there’s returning strength and balance on her part.
And there’s her family. The first time one of her relatives arrived to give me some leisure, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house. Relaxing in that bath and doing a bit of pick-up in what used to be my room, that felt pretty good. When I’m on the second floor, I don’t see her. And she won’t come up (I hope, it has happened) to seek my assistance with anything. It feels like gross abandonment.
But if I don’t let go, I won’t be able to visit my own family once the spring breaks. So two days later, I was ready to hit the road. These wonderful folk were loving her, caring for her, long before I ever met her. She went through several crises before she met me, there’s a trustworthy track record among them all. It’s not about them, it’s my fear of doing anything that hastens the day of my grief. The fear of adding guilt to what already seems immeasurably bleak.
So what did I do with my several hours off?
I worked on decorations for our wedding.