I like to brag that I’m the one who held him up,
kept the marriage going, the roof over our heads,
stood by him through his addiction, the DUIs,
the embarrassment he was at family gatherings.
He was lowered into the ground in September
and in December (or was it January) I thought
what weighed me down was gone. No stress,
no empty bottles under the bed, in the nightstand.
Such a heady sense of freedom. Little bouts of
depression came and went, came and went,
then came and stayed for days. What the hell
is wrong with me? An honest friend reminded me:
"He surrounded you with love, his pride in you
a form of worship. His tears when you were so ill,
thought he would lose you. On your darkest days
his arms the warmest refuge, he held you up."
© MCM 2018