What Do You Say?
Where is there to go from there? They wanted to know what I meant and so I told them about the things that I face every day.
How I am watching the love of my life being slowly eaten by her disease - consumed from the inside.
How surprised I am when I see a photo of her because she looks beautiful and full of life, not wasted.
How I need to find a job, but am getting no responses to the resumes I send out.
How I don't know how to face a potential employer and try to sell myself knowing that my wife is home dying.
How I need to assess my children's mental health by reading their blogs because they can't talk honestly with me about how they feel.
How I feel worthless because I am not working.
How the money goes away.
How we will probably have to sell the house and move to someplace more affordable.
How I can't even think of the insurmountable effort required to get ready to move. The packing. The cleaning. The painting. The moving of everything in the garage to make it look bigger. Finding a place to put everything in the garage. The "de-personalizing" of the house for showings. The endless voyerism of the showings where strangers come into your house and peer through your dresser drawers, peek in your bathroom cabinets, and move silently through your most private places.
How I dread the "looking" for a new place, a cheaper place, a different place full of ghosts of previous owners.
How I will feel so hopeless when she is gone.
They were silent then. Lunch tasted like cardboard.