Part 1 — The Decision I Could Barely Admit
For weeks, I had been carrying around a secret that made me feel like the worst wife in the world.
I had found a nursing home for my husband.
Not just looked at one.
Not just requested information.
I had toured it.
Spoken with the staff.
Asked questions about meals, medication schedules, physical assistance, visiting hours, and what happened if a resident fell in the middle of the night.
And that morning, after another frightening incident at home, I had accepted an available room.
My husband, David, didn’t know.
At least, I believed he didn’t.
For forty-one years, we had shared almost everything.
A mortgage.
Children.
Arguments over thermostat settings.
Vacations that never went quite according to plan.
The loss of our parents.
Our daughter Janet’s wedding.
Grandchildren.
Retirement.
And now illness.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I was considering sending him somewhere else to live.
Even thinking those words made my stomach twist.
Sending him away.
That was how it felt.
Not arranging better care.
Not admitting that his needs had become more than one tired woman could safely manage.
Sending him away.
So I kept delaying the conversation.
Instead, I became more careful.
Then more exhausted.
Then almost obsessive.
I listened for David every second of the day.
If I was downstairs, part of my mind stayed upstairs.
If I showered, I hurried.
If I went to the grocery store, Janet stayed with him.
If he slept, I did laundry.
If he was awake, I tried not to move too far from his chair.
At night, I slept with one ear open.
The smallest noise could pull me out of bed.
For almost two years, my life had slowly rearranged itself around David’s illness.
I told myself that was marriage.
I told myself that was loyalty.
Mostly, I told myself I was fine.
Then he fell.
It wasn’t even his worst fall.
But something in me broke that day.
David had tried to reach the bathroom without calling for me because I was downstairs switching laundry.
I heard the sound from the hallway.
By the time I reached him, he was on the floor, frightened and embarrassed.
He wasn’t seriously injured.
That almost made it worse.
Because I knew there would be another fall.
And perhaps next time we wouldn’t be so lucky.
