That was the day I called Meadow Ridge.
Four days later, they offered him a room.
And I said yes.
I still hadn’t told him.
That afternoon, I stood beside our bed searching his nightstand for his watch.
David was asleep.
I opened the first drawer.
Nothing.
Then the second.
Beneath an old eyeglass case and several receipts was an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Linda.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
David’s letters had always leaned slightly upward, even on birthday cards, as though every word were climbing a hill.
I stared at the envelope.
Then I opened it.
The first line made me sit down on the bedroom floor.
It said, in essence:
Linda, if you’ve reached the point where you need to read this, you probably should have asked for help sooner.
My hands went cold.
I read the line again.
There was no accusation that I had betrayed him.
No plea to keep him home.
No reminder of our wedding vows.
Instead, my husband had written a warning to me.
About me.
He said he knew exactly what I would do.
I would rename exhaustion as devotion.
I would confuse suffering with commitment.
I would keep saying I was fine long after I had forgotten what being fine actually felt like.
And then came the sentence that broke me.
He did not want that kind of sacrifice from me.
I pressed the letter to my chest and cried without making a sound.
David slept only a few feet away.
I looked at him—at the man whose body had slowly stopped obeying him—and suddenly felt as though he had reached across time to catch me before I collapsed.
He had written the letter before any of this.
Before the falls.
Before the medication charts.
Before the shower chair.
Before I knew how to lift him without pulling his shoulder.
Before our bathroom filled with grab bars, creams, disposable gloves, and pill bottles.
Before I ever felt irritated hearing him call, “Linda?”
And before I began hating myself for feeling irritated.
There were three pages.
I unfolded the second.
And kept reading.
Part 2 — The Letter He Wrote Seven Years Too Early
David wrote that caring for him did not mean I had to personally do everything.
If the time came when he required more than I could safely give, I was supposed to find more help.
