For the second time in less than one year, one of my husband's siblings, this time his youngest sister, has been found dead, alone, in their residence.
My husband is, well, part of a family that I don't understand. They are so pompous, so self-righteous. I have filed for divorce three times. I have not followed through out of fear and inertia. I often say I made a choice and I have to live with it. I do not want to be a savior for anyone except maybe myself, but I know if my husband had not married me, he would not own the amazing roof over our head and he would likely be found or already have been found alone. So alone.
He had a bout of heart failure recently that changed him. His brain was starved for oxygen for an unknown length of time while hospitalized for another condition and mistreated. Now he seeks my company more often. He shows more respect for my words and thoughts. He at first would not acknowledge the loss. But the other day he called a lawyer friend. I asked what brought him to that point and he said, "They fucked me up." They did. I knew it some months ago. It was sad to hear him say it, and it is very sad to realize that my company is more bearable to him because of it.