For years I've been  grieving for the husband I was losing.   The sadness and sense of loss became much more acute this past year, eventually reaching a kind of crisis of grief.  Which I'm still not through but there are entire days, even strings of days, when I don't cry.

In other words, I have had ample time to get used to the idea I was losing my husband.

Richard only found he was losing his wife a month ago.  His grief has only just begun.

When I visited him on Saturday - I didn't have an appointment, only stopped in with some fruit and asked, on the off chance they'd let me in, if I could see him - Richard was sad.  "When will we be together again," he asked.  So I cried.  My usual answer for the unanswerable.  And explained again why I can't look after him.  When he sees me cry, he pats my arm and says don't worry,, it's okay.  But he hurts and I can't help him.  And then the guilt comes again, should he come home?  Could I keep him safe?  But I can't and the end result would only be the same - a room in a facility.

So I go back today and take the Indian blanket we bought 30 years ago on our honeymoon, a repaired but beautiful delft bowl for his fruit, and me, to hold his hand, wrap an arm around his shoulders and kiss his head while trying to remain upbeat. 

And try not to want to escape too much from his need and sadness and the claustrophobic space that is the beautifully appointed open fire dining room professional kitchen spacious bedrooms with sliding glass doors onto personal patios Heritage Lodge.