I try to figure out my place in the recovery. I feel helpless in one sense, as I watch his frustration and suffering. And yet, I know that I am helpful in the practical sense: driving him places, carrying heavy things, being a friend. But trying to figure out how to be the friend (of only three months, at that!) -- while not being the caregiver, not the doctor, not the therapist, not the wife -- has been tricky to pull off. Add to that our adjustment to all the emotional factors, and we've got one heck of a challenge on our hands. But he is a fighter, who somehow has managed --while recovering-- to put full days in at the office, entertain his daughters for a holiday weekend, and do all his online Christmas shopping (well ahead of me, who is still shopping the old-fashioned way on Christmas Eve). And I am a patient and optimistic friend, who has managed in the past month --while supporting his recovery-- to finish my semester's classes, maintain a 4.0, attend five Christmas parties, visit with dozens of friends, and buy a new car. There's a lot of strength there between the two of us.
Last night we visited with his old college friend, Ed, and his wife Jackie. Such lovely, interesting people! They live in a modern home filled with art and artifacts from a lifetime of travel and living abroad. They converse easily and intelligently on an array of subjects, and between the two of them, converse in French, Jackie's native tongue. A variety of magazines and newspapers are stacked in the recently arrived mail, demonstrating the scope of their interests, and the bookshelves throughout the house are chocked full. When I grow up, I want to be as interesting as they are. :-)
