Jake is sitting on the couch beside me when he asks, “What’s it like being married to a dying man?” At first, I think I’ll be able to answer easily. I’ve been answering it implicitly for the last seven months, although I didn’t really know he was going to die, soon, until Friday, July 21—three days ago. I’ve been keeping a journal, so I’ve had a place to record the difficult, confusing, and sometimes banal details, like the pitch of the feeding tube beep, the smell of the hospital rooms, the myriad of administrative frustrations. But when Jake asks me what it’s like being married to a man who won’t be here in six months, for his 40
Wishing lots of strength to you, to Jake, to your family, and to your friends.
When the roots of love are pulled out of our being to test how far and deep they managed to grow, we suddenly find that they, very likely, have grown all the way through, up and down, spread in all directions and touched the places of ourselves that we’ve never even knew existed.
That’s the gift of love – to bring to light the hidden, to comfort the shaken, and then, eventually, to soothe the pain it has left behind.
I hope you will find peace, and I hope the love you feel today will continue to grow and nurture all of the parts of your being which might still remain hidden.
I am sending lots of warmth for this journey you all have ahead 🫂
This was so raw and honest and true and beautiful, Bess. It is a brave thing you are doing here, clearly with your beloved Jake's blessing. Your writing floored me. Keep writing about this. There are things you write here that I needed to know, for living my own life. I am in a strange and unexpected period of grief for a divorce that I wanted, I initiated--but still after 33 years of being with one man--it's dislocating. When you describe your love for Jake--it makes me ache, because this is a love that will endure, it is clear. This passage in particular gutted me:
So when Jake says to me “I don’t want to leave you,” I tell him, “You can never leave me, because I have parts of you that I will never give up, and that is what fills the spaces left by the parts of me you have taken.” I don’t want those parts back, because they don’t belong to me anyway. Those, he takes.
♥️ I appreciate the way you can write about your pain and be vulnerable about the “difficult and incredible gift of time”.
You and Jake are both so kind and giving. The way you treat the people you love is beautiful and uncommon in the world today. With each kind act, I think you fill space in the hearts of those around you and we all carry those parts forever.
Beautifully written friend. I cannot imagine the nightmare that is your reality, and even worse, knowing what lovely people you are. I miss being with you both in the morning sharing coffee and stories. Our paths have definitely gone in different directions, but I can’t help but think of you both when I have my favorite drink in the morning. I doubt it helps knowing this, but I think of you both often. I wish there was something I could do to help, but I know there isn’t really a right answer here. I know you’re cherishing every moment together. Love you both
Such a moving description that makes me pause and reflect on my own self absorption. Thank you for your vulnerability. Have you heard of The Hospice Doctor’s Widow? I think you’ll find a kindred spirit in Jennifer O’Brien: https://www.hospicedrswidow.com/about
Wishing lots of strength to you, to Jake, to your family, and to your friends.
When the roots of love are pulled out of our being to test how far and deep they managed to grow, we suddenly find that they, very likely, have grown all the way through, up and down, spread in all directions and touched the places of ourselves that we’ve never even knew existed.
That’s the gift of love – to bring to light the hidden, to comfort the shaken, and then, eventually, to soothe the pain it has left behind.
I hope you will find peace, and I hope the love you feel today will continue to grow and nurture all of the parts of your being which might still remain hidden.
I am sending lots of warmth for this journey you all have ahead 🫂
I cried yesterday, reading about a loss.
And again now.
Sitting by the hospital bed
Dec 2007
I love all three of you boys.
I am proud of you.
I still cry.
I know I will get through all this,
but I don't yet
Know how.
Be well.
This piece broke me and collected me again.
Gut-wrenching and beautiful. And a hamster metaphor. I'm done for. "We too often choose the wheel instead of the larger universe."
You bringing words to this experience is a gift you didn't have to share, but you did. Thank you.
This was so raw and honest and true and beautiful, Bess. It is a brave thing you are doing here, clearly with your beloved Jake's blessing. Your writing floored me. Keep writing about this. There are things you write here that I needed to know, for living my own life. I am in a strange and unexpected period of grief for a divorce that I wanted, I initiated--but still after 33 years of being with one man--it's dislocating. When you describe your love for Jake--it makes me ache, because this is a love that will endure, it is clear. This passage in particular gutted me:
So when Jake says to me “I don’t want to leave you,” I tell him, “You can never leave me, because I have parts of you that I will never give up, and that is what fills the spaces left by the parts of me you have taken.” I don’t want those parts back, because they don’t belong to me anyway. Those, he takes.
This was so beautiful to read! I can feel the love!
♥️ I appreciate the way you can write about your pain and be vulnerable about the “difficult and incredible gift of time”.
You and Jake are both so kind and giving. The way you treat the people you love is beautiful and uncommon in the world today. With each kind act, I think you fill space in the hearts of those around you and we all carry those parts forever.
Beautifully written friend. I cannot imagine the nightmare that is your reality, and even worse, knowing what lovely people you are. I miss being with you both in the morning sharing coffee and stories. Our paths have definitely gone in different directions, but I can’t help but think of you both when I have my favorite drink in the morning. I doubt it helps knowing this, but I think of you both often. I wish there was something I could do to help, but I know there isn’t really a right answer here. I know you’re cherishing every moment together. Love you both
Such a moving description that makes me pause and reflect on my own self absorption. Thank you for your vulnerability. Have you heard of The Hospice Doctor’s Widow? I think you’ll find a kindred spirit in Jennifer O’Brien: https://www.hospicedrswidow.com/about