Excerpt from “To Love What Is”

Abstract

In the summer of 1950, upon my graduation from high school, my future husband and I, 20 and 17, had a secret love affair—after which we went our separate ways. Thirty-four years later we reunited, and for the two decades we lived together we prided ourselves on our independence, freedom, and trust, separately pursuing our vocations (he a sculptor, I a writer). Then, on July 22, 2004, in a remote beach cabin on a Maine coastal island, my love fell nine feet from the sleeping loft to the floor—breaking most of his ribs, puncturing both lungs, and sustaining multiple blood clots in his brain. With that injury, which left him like someone with advanced Alzheimer's, our treasured independence vanished. He was 75 and I was 72. For the entire first year after the fall, my sole purpose was to heal him. But in the second year, I recognized that though his bones had healed, his brain damage was permanent, and I changed my goal to creating for us the most satisfying life I could.