I miss you.
Silly you, happy you, interested you.
I'm learning to live with
distracted you, frightened you, silent you,
parts of you I knew from before
but different now.
Bigger.
Darker.
Even your face,
the face I love so much,
changes daily
as your body adapts
and absorbs
and rebels against
the meds.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you,
the you from before the diagnosis.
I live for those sometimes.
They comfort and fill me
and get me through,
until the next time.
But today I see you:
sick
sore
self-conscious
uncomfortable you,
in your
expanding
deflating
tired body.
I know
you miss you too.
We're like roommates now,
in love with the same man,
lying quietly in the dark
missing you
praying for your return
fearing you're gone forever.
For Char.
Written in 2010 for my caregiver website, "Don't Lose Heart."
Copyright 2022 ©Jean Fogelberg
Please do not re-post or print without express permission.
Hello. I so enjoyed reading your chapters about you and Dan, during Covid. I was telling a friend, who is also a big fan, about reading the wonderful stories you shared. Where can I find those in order to share them with her?
Jean, I just cannot imagine the pain you both endured. The love you had for each other was priceless and everlasting. My heart and thoughts are with you. If I could, I'd be giving you a warm hug. I'm so thankful Dan was blessed with you.
Jean, the loss you expressed is still felt by many. You are a beautiful person, I wish you well.
Lost my Husband in 2014, and the last journey was very similar. I was grateful to be his caregiver to the end. This morning, I heard a song we used to dance to, and out of the blue, I burst into intense grieving. The sun always comes up again each new day, but some mornings I still wish I could show him the beauty that I captured in a photo of that day's sunrise.
♥