………………….Empty. I’ve lost myself. My mouth has crumbled with disuse. I paint my face, choose my clothes with care and go out into an empty world where I speak to no one and no one speaks to me.
My one purpose each day is to visit Ken, the only person in my life who needs me. My sick, demented Ken with whom I have shared a lifetime. He still needs me, still believes in me, unable to see how I have let him down. Sent him to live amongst strangers who are as isolated and trapped as he is. I spend my time with him as I would with a sick child trying to ease his pain and confusion. I make things worse in the end because I always walk out and leave him there. Walk out knowing that he needs all that I can no longer give him. He is a stranger with whom I now share part of my empty life.
I return to my empty home to sit with the empty, hollow feelings in my heart. I sit and eat alone. I watch tv alone. I’m empty, spent, nothing left in my heat but memories. Why is there so much pain when you reach a certain age? The older I grow, the less I love life. Age is seeping into my bones.
Sons of my flesh who I adored. Men now with cares of their own. Family has nothing more to give to me and I have even less to give to them. I am empty. They are lost to me now, separated, cord cut and out of my heart. I don’t know what they want from me or I want from them.
Life is a cruel joke with the last laugh on me. I have no joy. Joy left me a long time ago. I’ve lost the ability to love. I’m an empty shell……………………
I wrote all the above four years ago. I found it in the bottom of a drawer I was turning out. Ken has been dead for the last three of these years.
I no longer have the agonising stab of the daily visit to watch the man I love slowly dying. I still have gut wrenching guilt. I should have done more, been more, given more. I have learned to keep guilt tightly locked in a box. I no longer allow myself the luxury of self recrimination. I tell myself I’m a strong, independent woman.
I’m still alone but am quite, quite used to being alone. Most times I actually enjoy my solitary existence. I can have a pyjama day when I neither wash my body nor comb my hair. I can spend a whole day working in my garden. I have my daily friends on the radio and the tv whenever I want to escape. I can do what I want, when I want. Freedom of a kind.
I have the family when I want the family. I’m a beloved great aunt and grandmother, but on my terms. I can feel part of the family whenever I feel like it. I give myself the luxury of refusing invitations to visit if I do not have the inclination.
I’ve remembered my few friends again. We meet and treat ourselves now and again to a small holiday or a visit to the shops. I see them when I want to see them.
I’ve even got a small job at my great age! This keeps me in touch with routine and the discipline of working with others for short periods of time. But only when I want to.
I think I’ve taken control of my life after a long, long empty period when I was lost. I think...
xxTinaT
My one purpose each day is to visit Ken, the only person in my life who needs me. My sick, demented Ken with whom I have shared a lifetime. He still needs me, still believes in me, unable to see how I have let him down. Sent him to live amongst strangers who are as isolated and trapped as he is. I spend my time with him as I would with a sick child trying to ease his pain and confusion. I make things worse in the end because I always walk out and leave him there. Walk out knowing that he needs all that I can no longer give him. He is a stranger with whom I now share part of my empty life.
I return to my empty home to sit with the empty, hollow feelings in my heart. I sit and eat alone. I watch tv alone. I’m empty, spent, nothing left in my heat but memories. Why is there so much pain when you reach a certain age? The older I grow, the less I love life. Age is seeping into my bones.
Sons of my flesh who I adored. Men now with cares of their own. Family has nothing more to give to me and I have even less to give to them. I am empty. They are lost to me now, separated, cord cut and out of my heart. I don’t know what they want from me or I want from them.
Life is a cruel joke with the last laugh on me. I have no joy. Joy left me a long time ago. I’ve lost the ability to love. I’m an empty shell……………………
I wrote all the above four years ago. I found it in the bottom of a drawer I was turning out. Ken has been dead for the last three of these years.
I no longer have the agonising stab of the daily visit to watch the man I love slowly dying. I still have gut wrenching guilt. I should have done more, been more, given more. I have learned to keep guilt tightly locked in a box. I no longer allow myself the luxury of self recrimination. I tell myself I’m a strong, independent woman.
I’m still alone but am quite, quite used to being alone. Most times I actually enjoy my solitary existence. I can have a pyjama day when I neither wash my body nor comb my hair. I can spend a whole day working in my garden. I have my daily friends on the radio and the tv whenever I want to escape. I can do what I want, when I want. Freedom of a kind.
I have the family when I want the family. I’m a beloved great aunt and grandmother, but on my terms. I can feel part of the family whenever I feel like it. I give myself the luxury of refusing invitations to visit if I do not have the inclination.
I’ve remembered my few friends again. We meet and treat ourselves now and again to a small holiday or a visit to the shops. I see them when I want to see them.
I’ve even got a small job at my great age! This keeps me in touch with routine and the discipline of working with others for short periods of time. But only when I want to.
I think I’ve taken control of my life after a long, long empty period when I was lost. I think...
xxTinaT
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