Till Death Do Us Part?
Is ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ overly romanticized? I am the one who would argue so, barring the exceptional real life cases, which still remain few and far in between.
Many long marriages I’ve seen in the generation penultimate to mine are of a going concern simply for the appearance’s and/or convenience’s sake. An analogy would be two pieces of rotten wood exposed to water and moisture over time and producing less heat when burned. Oftentimes the cause is due to spouses having grown apart in spirits, or one spouse metamorphosing into a butterfly, while the other remains a caterpillar.
‘Till Death Do Us Part’ hits close to home for me. Three years ago, I had PVD (Posterior Vitreous Detachment) in my left eye. Last Monday my right eye suffered the same fate. Soon after, I ruminate on the possibility of going blind and the dire consequence that comes with it.
I know for certain, despite nearly 30 years of marriage, the burden I’d nevertheless impose on my spouse will be enormous. I know there is going to a threshold that he will inevitably reach. Surely, impatience and irritation will rear their respective ugly heads and utterly defeat him. After all, he is only human.
My spouse took great care of me, when I underwent a posterior tibial tendon transfer surgery. He did everything from cooking to assisting me in bathing for three months with no complaint. Most could easily dismiss it as de rigueur moral decency. Instead of feeling entitled, deep down I felt a great sense of apology and gratitude.
Now I shiver at the notion of him getting overwhelmed, as this is an entirely different ball game. How long would it be before his exhaustion and defeat start sneaking in? When would he decide to place me in an assisted living facility? And, most importantly, when would he start physically distancing himself?
I have no such foresight, nor does him. I know I’d have one hell of time struggling with the cruel reality.
