Note to Readers: In a March 13th post on MyStoryLives, writer Alexander (Sandy) Prisant began writing what he said might be his final writing project. This past week, he was hospitalized (he's home now.) Meanwhile, his wife, Susan Prisant, wrote the following. Part II of "The Journey We Take Alone" appeared March 16th.
By Susan Prisant
By Susan Prisant
When I cry at night there is no one to comfort me; he is my love and my lover, my confidant and comrade; he is my husband.
I married Sandy at 18; I love him deeply and took our marriage vows—in sickness and health, for better or for worse—to be a part of my life forever. We’ve been married for 47 years. Forty-seven years.
In 1995, the illness of a lifetime became very real and those marriage vows became the essence of my life. Sandy’s illness came to dominate my life. Sometimes we had a month—even six—of peace, tranquility, love and happiness.
New remedies. New treatments. Death knocking so insistently. But we always made it through together. For better or worse; in sickness and health—we always made it through together.
Along the way, so many doctors. For many the man I loved was a case study; for others there was, and still is, true compassion and genuine love.
Now Sandy is getting sicker; hours and days in hospital ERs and ICUs are stretching into weeks.
Sometimes we ask “should we stop fighting?” and the answer is always "NO!" -- because we can’t imagine not being there for each other. I want to cry, but never show my tears to him. I wash the floor and all the clothes; I want to cry but never show the tears. And there’s no one here to comfort me.
These words take me back to another, different loss. Callum McCallum was my four-legged best friend, until his death. Years have passed and I am still alone without him.
At the time, I wrote these words:
My best friend died last night. I want to cry, but he’s not here to comfort me. I wash the floor and all the clothes; I want to cry, but he’s not here to comfort me. I neatly packed all his things; I want to cry, but he’s not here to comfort me. My best friend died last night. I want to cry, but he’s not here to comfort me.
Now it’s my husband.
For all the fighting we’ve done for each other, there’s no one here to comfort me.
Writer Susan Prisant has created interactive reading and writing programs for children and wrote 8 children's books to use with these programs. The courses she led were sanctioned by the State of California and later she taught them on the East Coast and also, in the American School in Israel.