This weekend at the nursing home, a lot of wives were in visiting with their husbands. For the first time, I felt some anger and resentment simmering underneath my kind and composed exterior. I was reminded of the role I played as loving/devoted wife caring for my sick husband the years he was hospitalized and in rehab. These are older couples - one of the men is 93. My poor husband died at age 54 and I was 44. I definitely felt some unfairness with the fact that these couples ended up having more time together than my husband and I had. Their children are grown, there are grandchildren, the mortgage has been paid off. They were fortunate to have traveled and played golf together in retirement. It astounds me when I think about my husband maybe having lived to age 93 - how short his life really ended up being.
In the natural order of things, my husband and I should have had that regular and predictable life these couples were fortunate enough to have had. But we didn't and I know there are other younger couples out there dealing with sick spouses and young kids too. It's all a crap shoot in the end. Bitching out about the unfairness playing out in front of my eyes doesn't get me anywhere.
I saw myself in these wives and I put aside my anger for the extra time they've had and brought out the compassion because I know what lies ahead for them.