And I (Still) Love Her

When I look at pictures of my wife, I realize how much I still love this woman and still desire her. Even two years after she died.

She was diagnosed with an untreatable form of breast cancer. The best doctors could do was delay the inevitable. They had warned us early on that once they lost control of the disease, it would kill her.

It was still a shock when she passed away three days before our wedding anniversary.

The wife I lost was not the wife I married.

Years of chemotherapy, anxiety, and pain took their toll on her. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Eventually, her illness even undermined me.

About a year before she passed away, I realized that the dynamics of our relationship had shifted. One minute, she was my wife, my partner, my lover. The next, she was my wife, my responsibility, and I was her caregiver.

My role was to keep her comfortable, love and care for her, and make her feel safe. Desire was no longer part of our relationship. Yes, one minute I desired her; the next minute, I didn’t. And that desire never returned.

Although I never said so aloud, I’m sure she realized it.

For most of our marriage, if we spent too much time with no physical contact, I took the lead to reverse the situation. But, during the last year of her life, I made no attempts. I gave up.

One day, she told me that she hoped to regain her strength so we could resume being lovers. I told her there was no pressure. She never did.

I thought I was stronger than I really was. But after a year of deprivation, I craved physical contact. I needed to feel that somebody was giving back to me and that I was not the only one providing physical comfort.

I also read articles and listened to podcasts on sex and relationships. They exposed me to many perspectives from people with a more varied experience than mine.

I slowly embraced the possibility that there could be more than one person in a relationship. And sometimes, it might even be necessary.

After one year of living in a “dead bedroom,” I was afraid that I would resent her without a change. I did not want that feeling. But I could see she was in no condition to give me any physical intimacy. She didn’t have the stamina or the desire.

I believed she would live for at least a couple of years, if not more. I started considering options.

Articles and podcasts exposed me to people who had opened up their marriage and how it had saved them. This was especially true for couples where one person had lost the desire for sex, but the other hadn’t. Yet they still loved each other and wanted to stay together. Opening up the marriage allowed both to get what they wanted and remain happy together.

Was an open relationship a viable option for us? I didn’t have anyone in mind, and I wasn’t sure about going down that path. There was no way I would abandon my wife, and I didn’t want resentment to set in. So I was willing to consider an alternative.

One day, during a discussion, I brought up the topic. I asked my wife whether she would accept it if I had a physical relationship with someone else.

She was blindsided and cried. I tried to explain why I brought it up, but her reaction took the wind out of my sails. Through her tears, she asked, “Do you still love me?” And I said yes. A heartfelt, emphatic, and truthful yes. She said that was all she wanted to know.

She never answered the question.

A few weeks later, her condition deteriorated, and she did two stints in the hospital.

At the end of the second stay, I asked her what she wanted to do once we left the hospital. She confided that she was tired, and she was ready to go. But she thought the children would be angry at her decision.

I assured her they would not. She was the bravest woman they’d ever know. If she wanted to go, the kids would let her go.

We left the hospital and told our children about her decision. They said it was okay, that she had done everything she could, and she should think of herself. They told her that they would be all right.

A week later, my wife died.

I want to believe that she decided to let go because the children gave their blessing. But in the back of my mind, I will always wonder whether my request precipitated the outcome.

I’ll never know, and I will have to live with that uncertainty.

And I love her.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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