If you have not lost a parent then you have not sat by their bedside looking at them, just skeletons with skin. You have not experienced the godawful smell that accompanies that, that I cant get out of my nose right now.

To sit there and hear there words of denial as they try to convince themselves and you that they’re ‘fine now’ and ‘gosh, what a scare I thought I was a gonner for awhile’ and to know that THEY ARE just DAYS from the inevitable.

To sit and wonder if you should tell them they’re going to be fine or to keep quiet and then to silently obsess about the fact that your silence might speak volumes to them.

To wonder if you should cry and wail and tell them a million times over how much you love them no matter what they might have done in their lives, and as much as you may have written them off, because it might make them feel able to leave this world, and then to not do it because you realise that they don’t even know they’re that ill and doing that would make them panic about the fate that awaits them.

To sit at the fence between life and death and wish for it to just happen already so that you can go on with your life, and then to wish it away just as quickly because, well because it’s an awful thought and you shouldn’t have thought it in the first place.

To sit there and question every action in your own life knowing that one day this will be you, and are you making every second count?

If your spouse still has both parents then they are totally unable to comprehend what you are going through.

Which makes it even harder.

So when you overreact about the fact that, No, you haven’t done the dishes, and SO WHAT that when they respond with equal annoyance, that you simply have to forgive them that counter-reaction because they don’t know any better.

You know that one day when your spouses parents begin their demise that you will be the pinnacle of love and understanding because you’ve been here, and it all feels grossly unfair that you are drawing the short straw, and doing this first.

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