The Story of a Caregiver

I’m hungry for the first time in over a week. Not because I’ve been eating regularly and taking care of myself, of course. I think maybe my body is recognizing I need to find a way to adjust to this new life. A life surrounded by funeral flowers and peppered with well wishes from friends near and far. It’s great to speak to them, but I’m not a great conversationalist right now.

I made it through yesterday without crying much. Of course, I slept most of the day, but I say that’s because the visitation Tuesday wore me out. No, yesterday I merely teared up a few times. Then I went to bed and curled up with the pillow lying where Mike was supposed to be, and I sobbed. We didn’t even cuddle in bed that often, especially since the cancer started taking him away. Sometimes we just held hands until we fell asleep. Still, holding his pillow felt like holding a piece of him again.

Today is another life. Time to clean up and think about who I’m going to be. For so long I’ve been Mike’s roommate, Mike’s partner, Mike’s wife, Mike’s caregiver, now Mike’s widow. Oh, how that word hurts. Now I have to figure out who Melissa is. Maybe. I may need to be Mike’s… something… for a little while longer. Soon enough I’ll have to go back to work and face a reality alone. Reluctantly.