Irony 1: The grief and suffering I experienced during my care-taking was prolonged by loving decision to care for him at home. I've been told by professionals that if I'd institutionalized him, he would have died sooner. I do not write this to condemn institutionalization. I had my own plan that if he ever became violent or started to wander, I would have placed him. But that never happened. So I made the decision to continue caring for him in place, thus prolonging his life and my broken-heartedness.
Irony 2: My caring for our household for 7 years and then for Will for four, two of which, like everyone else's COVID years, majorly sucked, proved to my heart that I loved him more than my own life or any other relationship. I loved him more when he died than I did when we started living together afresh in 1990. I volunteered with the Bend Hospice in the mid nineties in part as a way to prepare for Will's death. If he had actually died at that time, I would not have been prepared in any practical way (having little financial management experience at that time) but I don't think my heart would feel as mushy and pulverized as it does now. And I had a job, then, and a different focus.
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