How can you smile when I talk to you? I mean, I’m glad you do: it’s a sign that you’re comfortable, not in pain or distress. Despite what’s happening to you, your body failing you, you can still manage to move your lips into a slight smile. You’re not even fully conscious, yet you seem to understand what’s going on around you enough to react with a smile. At least, I like to think it’s a smile.
I smile. I smile at you, obviously. Only, mine is a weak smile. Not the full lights-up-your-face smile that you’ve always had. That you’re known for by everybody.
These days are a kind of limbo. Is it an adjustment period? Are you being this calm so we have time to process and prepare for what’s coming? That might prompt questions of spirituality. A spirituality I don’t have.
All my rationality tells me is that you’re comfortable, not in pain and not distressed. That this bastard of a disease that’s robbed you of absolutely everything is giving you an easier time at the end. It owes you that much.
A Husband For A Carer 