I guess, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that the high I felt from my wonderful surprise 6oth birthday would fade. I had hoped it signified a turning point, a point where I realized that I had so many people who loved me, I had no reason to feel so lost and alone.

I was wrong, the air has gone out of the helium balloons and with it, I have deflated also to my sad self, the one that cries, the one that mourns, even though I know the love is around me.

I am not the one who was stricken, I am walking on two feet, and using two good hands and seeing with two good eyes, and talking and living just as I was before this happened to my hubby. Yet I feel stricken, lost in the world of what may never be, the lonely days of longing for a companion I have had for 28 years. Yes, he is still alive, and yes, I have a lot to be thankful for. He can eat, and dress and toilet himself, there are no big medical crisis, no machines keeping him alive. I have no one else to take care of but him. Yet here I am, back into the deflation of my hopes and dreams.

As  I watch him sleeping, I am happy he is at peace, oblivious to the selfish struggle I go through on a daily basis, trying so hard to remain upbeat and hopeful. Sometimes I wish I could just leave him sleep, to not have to wake him back up to the life I am sure he would never have wanted. And then I feel guilty all over again.