A week and a half ago-
Today, I’ve been taught a little lesson, a lesson I’d prefer not to have learned. My husband is much maligned and under-appreciated on this blog. In real life, he is spoiled beyond belief and in our marriage, after protracted and healthy debate, he always gets his way. I participate in that because I love him more than air.
We’ve hit a small healthcare speed bump. He had oral surgery this morning. It was an ordinary procedure and went off without a hitch. The anesthesia was no more than what a patient is given for a routine colonoscopy. The “boys” helped me manage their dad, who, as it turns out, has a personality that cannot be sedated. He’s asleep now on the couch. He wakes briefly every so often to demand a cigarette, no smoking allowed, or to ask if he may take the stuff out of his mouth, sorry Buster the stuff stays.
His mouth is all bloody and his hands are a little bit too. Maybe there is blood on the couch. I know there is blood on the quilt. I don’t care. I care that he was cold from the anesthesia. I turned the heat way up and piled more pretty quilts and blankets on him. Once he wakes up, I’ll clean him off. I’ll probably rush to clean the covers when I know he’s all better.
That’s what I learned today. It’s possible that someday, in what I’ve always imagined will be a happy, immortal, future, he might not be all better. He might not know who I am or where he is. Right now there are things I’d like to tell him. He’s in no condition to listen. Some of the things I’d like to tell him wouldn’t be good for him to hear. I know something that is good and bad at once. I love him with more intensity than I ever have and we’re getting old a lot faster than I thought.
My husband has recuperated to the degree that I decided, briefly, last week, it would be a good time for a legal separation. Divorce is too permanent, you know, in case I change my mind. I don’t hate him. He drives me batshit crazy. I would like him to be able to access my social security in the event that I kick it first. If my retirement hasn’t been spent, in spite, I guess I’d like him to have that too.
If we were to be legally separated I was going to QUIT the job I have now. There are jobs available with the government- the only thing I have left to prostitute is my integrity- I want those splendid government benefits. As you might suspect, the Department of Defense has the most postings. The good jobs, in interesting departments, are few and far between because they’re underfunded and uncorrupted.
So here we are back to normal or whatever normal is for us, which may not be anything like what normal is for you. I hope your normal is just a tad less passionately provoking.
On Tuesday or Wednesday, before he aroused my ire, my husband called me to report, “In the paper it says there were 1,000 people at Cookie’s funeral, it was standing room only.” Yesterday, I ironed my clothes before I hung them in the closet, in order by color, I like that it looks like a color wheel in there. I hung a silk sweater next to a pair of black rayon pants and thought, With some black flats, that would make a nice funeral outfit. As my oldest and dearest friend might say, “Sweet Jesus!” How did we arrive at this place? Really, funeral outfits?
Last week, I talked with a blog supporter, and former customer, who said she missed my entries. We had an amusing conversation covering the younger generations, loves, losses, and the value of stomping and slamming in a long marriage. She and her husband will soon move to a retirement community, which she describes as “walking in on your own and coming out in a box.” We talked about the worries that accompany maturity and I confided that I don’t like it when my husband worries. I especially don’t like it when he has a worry I can’t eliminate. I told her that he expressed a sincere desire to be with me in the sweet by and by after we croak. She laughed when I divulged that I accepted his invitation with the caveat that I’ll be calling the shots in eternity and he’ll have to go along if he wants to get along. I let him be the boss this turn, my turn will last longer.
***Happy unintended consequence! My husband a two pack a day smoker for at least 40 years has quit, quit, done, doesn’t even miss them! Maybe he did it because he’s absorbed the enormity of eternity and would like to prolong his turn. We know how he is.