This is another transcription from the journal I kept during that last sad, wonderful year of Dave's life. It got lost in the order, however, the situation and feelings it describes still fit.
Today’s canticle: “It is not by strength that one prevails.”
That is surely true of these times.
I watch Dave sinking every day, getting weaker and more tired, the
light slowly draining from him and I feel like someone is scooping
out my innards with a spoon. I can’t imagine a world without him in
it.
I don’t even know why I’m crying. Feeling sorry for myself, for
all we planned and will not have, for his pain and bone weariness.
He was so tired yesterday. Took him for a ride, but had little
pleasure in it.
It feels like this will be his last summer, the last times he will
feel a warm breeze or see green hills. I want to fill him up with it,
but some days he just can’t.
And there is nothing to do for it. My own body does not betray me as
it does him and I am thankful for that—I can walk through all the
days and get everything done but it’s not a physical strength that
makes it possible. It’s something else—the life force I still
don’t understand—it’s a river of the Lord that runs through
bearing me up with it, carrying me along without ability or consent.
It takes me unwillingly where I must go. I move my arms and legs. I
gasp and shout, but the impetus comes from without. I am surviving
but do not like this one bit.
Image: onehdwallpaper.com
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