Exhaustion

Dear Handsome,

Remember how tired you would get from the chemo and then from the cancer? I remember our friend Charlie saying to me early on "Let him sleep.". And I did even though it would worry me so. It was so unlike yourself—always so full of energy—to suddenly sleep hours and hours on end. Then on those "Benadryl days" as we would call them, suddenly you couldn't sleep. You'd be awake 24 to 48 hours straight, as hyper as Robin Williams on steroids. It exhausted me. The resulting crash: for three straight days in a row you would sleep. That would give you one good week to ski or bike or teach in Vermont Adaptive. No one knew but me and your medical team. Yet, it gave you 2 and a half years more of a life very well lived.

The exhaustion, that is me now. When you first took to bed permanently, I just couldn't sleep, all spits and bits. Totally wired. Now, month later, it seems I can only accomplish one or two things before crying and then collapse in a wave of exhaustion, I can't do a thing. Not even a call or put away anything.

Yet there is so much that needs doing: fixing all those things that broke or looking for those who can, contacting banks and credit cards, phone companies, and piano tuners, and camper fixers. Figuring out what accounts were yours or mine or both, finding account numbers and security codes, and then canceling those like your health insurance that we no longer need. And that is despite the fact that you organized so many things ahead of time for me.

I made a list of all the physical things that need repair, preferably before winter sets in and it's overwhelming. You were always the person who fixed everything. You were fastidious. In making the list, it dawned on me just how tired you had been and for so long. To Fix:

1. the neighborhood drainage issue that you'd been working on resolving for a year and a half
2. the porch damage caused by the above
3. the driveway that needs resurfacing and is also in disrepair due to the above
4. the camper that will not close
5. the deck railing that is suddenly becoming uplifted in this heat
6. the back and garage door that Charlie can easily open unless locked
7. the upstairs windows that need replacing (thank you for changing out the downstairs ones last fall)
8. the ceiling spots downstairs
9. the seam of the ceiling in our bedroom
10. the grill that needs replacing
11. the hut tub that won't hold water
12. the kitchen floor that we've wanted to resurface
13. the floor tiles in the studio that decided to buckle the week or two before you took to bed
14. the shade in our bedroom that decided to go yesterday
15. the microwave that also bit the dust near your end
16. the push lawn mower that died the day after you did.

Tegan says I should make a list of all of the things that are fixed now. Cathy says I can hire folks. I should  and can and will but it all leaves me overwhelmed and lonely. You should be here with me.

But I think most of all, my exhaustion is because I keep "looking" for you, expecting you, desiring you. The pain of my desire is stronger then when we first began dating and you would travel from Rochester to Vermont to be with me. Oh, how I anticipated your visits and how I cried when you left. Now, I am left with the desire and the tears but no hope of your return. 

Dearest, tell me that you continue. Tell me that we will be together again in a world beyond this. Tell me you will know me there and I will know you. Tell me we will never leave each other again. I am so exhausted, send me your strength and joy.