Part 292: →Husband Journey: The Great Pretender
The bonsai was a gift from my sister in November 2022. It was doing well: the instructions said to keep it moist, to provide a tray of wet pebbles underneath for humidity, to feed it. It produced two small, fragrant gardenias in the spring and then carried on looking green and gorgeous until this past November when it spontaneously, mid-month, began to droop; its leaves sagging, eventually drying, then dropping. I frantically did research and have been stuck between grief and hope. I removed it from the pot that it was wired into. No, it wasn’t potbound, no the roots didn’t seem to be dead but what do I know? I took the advice of a member of a bonsai Facebook group which jived with some websites I explored and decided that it likely had been overwatered, thus choking the tree from obtaining oxygen. The soil was totally saturated even when I ceased watering. The rootball was forever wet. I hoped that, perhaps because it is Autumn, this was part of the process: trees drop leaves, right?
The tree has since been placed back in the original pot that had been cleaned, the wet dirt was dumped and replaced with bonsai soil, a gritty, pebbly mass for alleged good drainage. Then, I followed directions, gave it a good watering and put it back in its place. Some branches were dry enough to snap, others seemed to have some resilience and could still bend, however, I must admit that knowing that bending was a good sign and that snapping was not, I didn’t bend too hard:
I couldn’t face the truth.
I bought a hygrometer and it kept registering that the soil was wet enough. I stopped the madness of watering, especially as Winter approaches, when we are supposed to let plants rest. And I hope, beyond hope, that this tree will somehow resurrect.
The tree is a reflection of Robert:The kinship is astounding. During recent visits I have been stunned by the deterioration. During recent visits I have questioned his watering: was he getting too much? Too little? The nurse put him on an IV for a day due to dehydration. I have wondered how his arms, now twigs, haven’t snapped from the strain of just being. Whether his roots still tether him to the past. To the present.
He watches. He listens. He has virtually stopped vocalizing. He has no reply to questions, or, if prodded he might respond with a word. He knows me, he can say my name, but he hardly has the breath to do so.
During a recent Facetime call, instead of hurling heavy music at him, I played music from the 50s, 60s and 70s. He can’t protest, he was captive and I was swept away into my younger days, grooving in my chair, even getting up to dance and then finding myself balanced against a wall, weeping while playing The Platters. I doubt that neither the bonsai or Robert have any inkling of the pain an observer experiences: the waiting, the wondering. The confusion. The up-down, around and around vertigo of hope.
When one visits Robert in person, or even on a Facetime call, one digs deep into the archive of television episodes where the person lying in the bed is in a coma, surrounded by people who wish that he understands what is being said to him. It usually goes like this: “Blah, blah, baddity blah! Squeeze my hand if you understand!” or “Blink if you understand what I am saying.” The person in the bed is an actor who can get up and function after the scene is filmed. Robert’s scene is never over. He never gets up. But he watches and tracks, and he seems to respond when being asked to blink, although his action might just be a purely involuntary response.
We, the observer, believe what we want to believe.
I asked a Lenormand card reader about Robert a couple of years ago about his health and she told me that at that time, he wasn’t so quick to leave, that he had strong roots. But,that was then. If my bonsai is any indication, there are roots in the soil, but they do not sustain the tree. The finer ends have been broken and are either absorbing too much or not enough water. Neither Robert or the bonsai can make its needs known. Both pretend to be there, to still be there. The tree might still surprise me in the Spring. Either way, Robert has already surprised me by his loss of memory … as I said in my last blog, I continue to blab incessantly about Italy and the fantasy of returning to Orvieto. “Do you remember?” I ask. To this question he responds. Without a prod.
“No.”
That is when I realized that this is the ending of a great story. The person whose story it belongs to has been rewinding into the silence of pre-language. What is left of him is only a shell pretending to be him. The person who was living in him is gone.
I am the biggest pretender of all.
📌That series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey
(becomes the husband journey)
The previous post is here
The next post is here
This is heartbreaking, for both of you, but most especially for you. I had thought that there was some improvement in Bob for a while, but that seems lost now. You and Bob both continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. HUGE HUGS to you.
My dear Sue, I ache for you as I feel your pain and anguish. At the same time, I feel your acceptance of this heartbreaking situation. Sadly, you don’t have an alternative choice. I so wish you did as I wished I did when I lost Richard and before him Daddy and Mummy. I am sure that every time the telephone rings it sends you into automatic pilot as you expect the worst news possible. Your strength has endured during the years of grief you have and are living through. I told you years ago to ‘stay strong’ and you have to the outside world but no one knows what goes on behind your four walls when you are alone with time to think. There are both positive and negative sides to playing music. Music brings out our emotions and you couldn’t help but cry playing The Great Pretender’ Don’t hide behind a mask. Let your emotions get the better of you as it helps. My love, thoughts & prayers xxx
Beyond heartbreaking. When a loved one becomes a ghost, there is no choice but to let go. Only memories of good times can sustain us. Unbelievably sad. You are now in uncharted waters. Surround yourself with people, music, books, films, art, and food that heal your soul. Hugs.
My dear Friend Susan, what suffering you are having, there are no comforting words I can express to make this be better. Rest assured you have great support and sending luv and hugs. The Platters was one of my favs as well. Hang on, this will end at some point and you will be able to rest.
I’ll never hear that song the same…
Ported from FaceBook
Robin Torchin Klemas
Beautifully written. Sending hugs❤️
Nancy Kleinfeld
Beautifully written.
My heart is aching for you. So difficult for you .
💔
Janet Gulotta
💔
Jacqui Binford-Bell
An amazing blog. I don’t have a bonsai but orchids seem to present the same struggle. And my father was in ICU dying for only seven weeks. And since we are of a like age I remember all the same songs. As I approach in two days the second anniversary of my sister’s departure I am dealing with my own well of memories. I wish you were closer so I could give you a hug. And lay a hand on your bonsai. An orchid youtube channel I follow in times of troubles calls her orchids green pets. I think the bonsai fits that description in your life. And as Ann wrote, my heart aches for you.
Larry Schechter
I have no words. Your writing is beautiful but heart wrenching.
Ann Barrow Huebsch
I have no words, Sue. My heart aches for you.
Janeen Worrall
My heart goes out to you. Memories of my mom in the same scenario crept in as I read, and I wept with you. I kept reaching through with stories and memories, saying all I could and would and dared speak aloud. Deepest hugs, Susan. Keep reaching out as you can for you and for him. There is strength in your actions. The memories and conversations are important for you, and I know Robert knows that. Sending love, my dear.
Mary Rohrer Dexter
It must be so very hard.
Meryl Sacks
I am so sorry
Jackie S.
I just read your most recent blog. I had tears in my eyes. Sending my love and a ton of hugs to you. ❤️
Donna Haley
Your writings bring back so many memories as caregiver for both my parents. My heart goes out to you, Sue, as you continue to travel this road ❤️❤️
Shelley Kennedy
Sue, sending much aroha (love) your way, as words ( my words) are hopelessly inadequate at this time. My heart hurts for you. 💜💔💜
Jeanette M. Detert
Love your Day. Hugs to you .
Karen Morgan
Oh Sue – I’m so sorry. There are no words, sorry seems so inadequate. Hugs my friend xx
Lucie von Leyden
My heart breaks for you.
Hugs Susan, I truly have no words. There is a higher reason for you both. Love love each other.
My heart and soul are with you as I read your beautiful writings. Robert is so incredibly fortunate to have you by his side.
My love and light are winging your way, sweet Susan!!❤️
You took my breath away. I can only wish it was not so grim. Your resilience is tested at every turn.
I can only say that your readers (me, included) are humbled by your writings and that we, all of us, love and support you.