Life with someone in constant pain is not easy. In a lot of ways, it’s harder for the caretakers, the wives and the loved ones, then it is on the person in pain. We’re he ones that deal with the mood swings, the drastic measures taken to get relief, the blowups, the tears, the manic episodes when they feel good, countered by the deep downswing when they can’t take another minute of the pain. It’s exhausting, and incredibly painful to watch someone you care about wrestle with… well, life.

But we do it. I did it for over 10 years – in truth, almost our entire 15 years together as Kevin was suffering a knee injury when we got together, and it was two years of reconstructive surgery and physical therapy until it was fixed. Then just 2 years after that, the arm injury and he beginning of a 10 year long battle with pain.

One of the things Kevin was most worried about was addiction. It ran in his family, and he was determined never to become an addict, yet with the amount of medication he had to take just to get through the day was more then a normal everyday person would use, and they’d be labeled ‘addict’ in a heartbeat. I watched him wrestle with the decisions to take more meds, to change his meds, to take any at all, to give up or to work over and over again. Did I mention I HATE it when I can’t fix something?

It did teach me something though. I can’t fix everything. And sometimes? Sometimes you have to step back, and let go. As much support as I gave Kevin, as much as I tried to help him and weathered the storm, in the end he was the master of his own self, and each decision was his own. Through it all I learned a very important lesson – the only reactions I can control, the only person I have ultimate control over, is my own, and my self.

I can’t stop someone from making a mistake, though I can listen. And when it gets to be too much, when I can no longer keep my mouth shut, when I can’t say anything without growling… I’ve learned to step back, back off, and shut down.

I’ve learned when to be D. U. N. Done.

I watched people tell him, and tell me, that he couldn’t be in that kind of pain, that it was a desperate cry for attention. I watched people say that they had pain worse, that they would react better, that they would DO better – meaning they thought themselves to BE better. I watched the passive aggressive little jabs and pokes and slices of sharp words meant to cut and cut deeply, as they tried to make him feel less then capable of taking care of his family, because of his injury. It’s only an arm, after all. It couldn’t be THAT bad – while the doctors looked at him in shock and asked why in the world he was still trying to work instead of staying home…

And even now, I react poorly to passive aggressive tugs at my sanity. I react poorly to someone popping pills because they’re upset, and using excuses as to why, and trying to get my sympathy because woe, woe is them in the same kind of cry for attention that people accused Kevin of. I physically recoil when people tell me what they do or do not deserve. I react extremely poorly to people who don’t. get. help. I react way bad to people poking at me, slicing with words that cut, clutching and clinging on as if I’m supposed to save them too, just because I talked to them, just because I listened, just because they won’t take responsibility for themselves.

I am not your savior.

Don’t you think that if I could have saved ANYone – it would have been the other half of my soul?

There’s times though, that I wish they’d give it a break. Even now, 3 years later, where it isn’t quite as raw, quite as new, but instead is a comfortable and well-known ache, it gives me pause when I hear “daddy would have…” or “once time, daddy did…” or “remember?” Because I do remember… everything. What he said, what he did, what they remember, what they think of.

Being the holidays, his name has come up a LOT from my youngest – in everything from Christmas memories, to “Whenever I get sick I think of daddy because I was sick when he died.” [To be honest, i don't remember that she was sick when he died, but then again, I don't remember much of anything of that first 48 hours, either.] Sometimes it’s hard to answer, even if your not really obligated too, even if it’s the pup who’s just talking to hear herself talk. I don’t want to stilt the conversation though, so I do my best to at least nod, to at least say “I know” – especially now, during the holidays.

Kevin never was one to appreciate Christmas. He never cared, as his upbringing was one of pain and terror, instead of love and support. He didn’t really see the point until we had kids, and he was finally able to view it through their eyes, the way it should be. Despite how much it hurts, then, I’ll continue to nod, smile, hug, and hold the precious memories of my kids in the open, under the sun, where they can continue to flourish and nourish their still tender hearts.

Even as mine still breaks.