I thought it’d be a relief when it was over. Not that I wanted it to end, but I wanted the suffering to stop. I was tired, he was tired. But that’s not how I feel now.
I wish we could go back, even to the worst parts. I miss every moment. I just want him back here with me, no matter how bad it is. I thought it was hard to be on call all day and night, for weeks and months and years without stopping. Having more and more responsibility put on me. Less and less help. Less and less support. With my friends all forgetting I exist, awkwardly avoiding me the rare times I’d get out of the house to run an errand.
Now there’s nothing. Just the paperwork. The blank space. The things to dispose of.
What would I give for one more day? Everything.