Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Maybe you'll be there

In spite of overwhelming evidence, I find myself still hoping that H will once again be the man that he once was…even just part of the man that he was. But there's ample evidence that this just won't happen. Even tho' his VL has dropped, all the neuro damage won't repair…some will, I suppose, but I doubt that it will be enough to return him to me.

And so, as we continue to live in the same house that we've shared for over 20 years now, I find myself transported into the past. I hear him come down the hallway, open a door, and I am returned to history and I expect that bouncing, healthy, and hot man to appear around the corner with that big happy grin that I fell for so very long ago.

While I love our house, there are so many memories and I respond so automatically and I am filled with heartfelt hope, even if just a little bit and just for a moment. I've realized that hope is just another form of bargaining ( "he'll get better, it isn't so bad, he's not so sick") and just a waypoint-albeit one that I'm stuck at- toward acceptance.

These lyrics from "Maybe You'll be There," written in 1947 by Sammy Gallop sum up the hope so well:

Someday if all my prayers are answered
I'll hear a footstep on the stair
With anxious heart
I'll hurry to the door
And maybe you'll be there

1 comment:

Carol said...

Although our situations are pretty different, I can relate to this post, as I married one man, and, after his battle with a mental illness, our "what used to be" is a bundle of hopes mixed with memories and a lot of grief. And frustration because it all seems close enough to touch, but it's still really gone. I'm sorry you're going through this, but your partner is lucky to have a love like yours.