Grey Street

(Taken from my online journal my therapist asked me to keep.)

I can't be the one that lands her on Grey Street.

If I could, I would take myself out of the equation.

Not because of depression or self-pity, but because I’ve seen what being my nurse for the last two years has done to her. And not just any nurse, she’s an actual neuro-trauma nurse with dreams, goals, in grad school, and a successful side hustle that brings in extra income. But none of that shields her from the daily grind this puts on her spirit, especially these last nine months of me being stuck on bed rest, battling pressure sores, constantly needing help. Always saying, “Hey love, can you…?” I can see what 2 years have done and live in horror wondering what 10, 20, 30 years will do to her precious spirit.

If I could spare her heart…

If I could gift her a different future…

If I could give her the chance at motherhood she deserves…

If I could help her soar higher, professionally and personally…

If I could take away even one more moment where she has to wipe my ass… I would.

But I can’t. I’m never alone. And truthfully, I wouldn’t want to hurt her in that way either but the thought lingers: pop the storm cloud over her life so the rain can fall for a little while, then let the sun break through again, because she deserves nothing less than clear skies.

If I could… I would.

Because I can't be the one that lands her on Grey Street.