I know you

This is where he was sitting when we had this conversation - it helps to remember it.

When it’s painful to stay in the moment it’s sometimes easier to look back, and when there is no one to blame it’s easy to blame ourselves. Watching Randy die was the hardest thing I’ve had to do and I try very hard not to question myself, not to look back - I know Randy had faith in me and that has to be enough.

Before Randy died I was in an online group of caretakers - each caring for a spouse/partner who had terminal brain cancer. It was helpful to have a network of people in situations like mine - we sympathized with each other from a place of understanding, something I couldn’t find anywhere else. People posted about treatments and hope and the despair and watching their partner suffer and unpleasant personality changes. I didn’t have any hope - there was no treatment for Randy - but the sense of community was comforting.

Once someone posted about the things she was doing for her husband and she sounded so kind, so patient, that I felt guilty. I read the entry to Randy and I cried, apologizing for not being the kind of caretaker he deserved. He just looked at me and siad, Cheryll, I know you - I know who you are. I love who you are and you’re taking care of me just fine.

He knew me better than anyone and he loved me more than anyone ever has, and I miss that so much.