My Nine-Eleven
In 2002, the last time I remember seeing my husband Wern was when he made his nightly peanut butter sandwich and he passed me in the kitchen doorway smiling at me with the usual glint in his eye. That night I woke up to Wern making "snoring" sounds, but it wasn't snoring and I ended up doing CPR at the instruction of the 911 operator. He stopped breathing and the paramedics took over on arrival and revived him enough to take him to the hospital. He died shortly after. He had had an enlarged heart. My mother was of course devastated at first, but it wasn't long before she seemed to entirely forget that he had existed. In her dementia, her focus was on herself and how I looked after her. Mom depended on me way too much. She kept telling me that I am her reason for living. I had my own life and responsibilities after losing my husband. Of course I would look after her until she dies, but it became a problem for my mental health. I went away on a trip for some relief, and...