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June 3, 2018 – Her body lay crumpled on the sofa, legs bent, head twisted above a rising urine stench brought about by another vodka binge. Once proud, she now resigns to the grips of her vice, one so baleful that it has unhinged her dreams and erstwhile pride. This scene — marked by visceral imagery and accompanied by hints of abstract fascination — finds my wife at her lowest. Nevertheless, her soul remains. Even as she mumbles through intoxicated breath, I see beauty, and above all, love, in her pale and worn face … In that moment, as I’m overtaken by all that is around me, I cannot react outwardly. However, inwardly my heart grieves as pieces of my spirit dive even lower than her physical state. And amid this toxicity I absorb her pain and harbor my own, but feel selfish for reeling as I stand sober above her. Yes, I can care for her needs, provide companionship and even slow her spiral, but I cannot restore dreams or offer a solution to cure the pains which reside among us.
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