People keep telling me it is time. Time to think about rest home care. Time to start looking after myself. Time to let go a little.
I know they mean well. They see the tiredness in my eyes, the long days that stretch into longer nights. But they do not see what I see. They do not wake in the quiet hours and feel his hand searching for mine even in sleep. They do not see the way his face softens when I help him with his tea, or the small smile when a familiar song plays. They do not know what it is like to still see the person beneath the illness.
They see duty. I see love that still breathes. They see a man fading. I see the man who once made me laugh until I cried, who still looks for me when he feels lost.
I know what I want. I know what I need to do. I do not need to be told what is best. I am already living what is best for my heart, even when it is hard.
Sometimes I just want someone to sit with me. To listen as I think things through. Not to tell me what to do or how to feel, but to simply be there. To let me speak my truth without trying to change it.
I do not need a map. I know this road. I have walked every turn of it, and every ache too.
All I need is a lantern beside me, a small steady light that reminds me I am not walking it alone.
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