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I WISHED FOR MY HUSBAND TO DIE

I’m tired. No power. I stand here in front of our house and light a cigarette. I hate smoking. But thats the only way to turn away from the situation. He, my husband, is sleeping upstairs, but not for very long I think. Like every day, because of the tormenting pain. He doesn’t want to show me his pain and wants to be strong. But I see his trembling hand when he takes his medicine, or in his dull eyes, or simply the weakness of his words.

I never thought that something like this could happen to us. As I work as a nurse it was always the other people that had diseases. Not our problem. But then, last spring, he got the news from the doctor. On this day his life broke down — not curable, malignant, long periods of illness, needing care, therapies.

On the same day we decided to use the time as considerately as we could. So we travel around the world, eat wonderful meals, see interesting cultures and of course talk a lot. Now he only listens. When I look back today, I see how wonderful this time was. Although there was always the nagging thought i’d soon lose him forever. Our life has changed, because there wasn’t the house, the job or the money in the centre anymore. Why did we only change our lifestyle after the diagnosis and not earlier?

The doctor came yesterday. He said the time is coming. When i think of this, I feel sick. The doctor thinks if we connect him to a life-support machine it might extend his life. But is this what my beloved husband wants? To be a stiff victim and to live at the doctor’s mercy?

Everyone must die, at some time. I flick the stub away with two fingers and stamp it out. He never did like me smoking. I go back into the house to make breakfast for the very last time. I’ll make his favourite.



© Heike Pawelski, 2006





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