Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange stretch of road.

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Building 20 "The Thing in the Hall"

I keep thinking back on how things have progressed the last few years. The horrors I witnessed, and the things I lost. The things I gained. I find it...hard, to explain just what has been going on with me. What it feels like to have your children taken away, to have your wife die, to watch her suffer over a period of months. I tell my therapist about it, and he nods and listens. But I know he doesn't get it. No one seems to get it. Even my new wife, Margaret.

She tries to. I am really fortunate to have her. I really doubt I would be as okay if I didn't have her. We don't really talk about what happened, though she knows probably more about it than most. It just isn't part of our lives. She does her work and I do mine, and when we get home we simply spend time together. Neither of us talk about our day. We mostly read. But I saw a look in her eyes today I haven't seen in a while. She looked concerned.

I have tried to play the role of the good husband. I have kept my hours at work and I get her small trinkets that remind me of her. And I listen...but I can see it when she looks at me. The thing we don't discuss is becoming an issue and I am struggling with how I am going to tell her. What happened before my wife died. What led to the nightmares.

It is easier to write it down.

I think most people who have read this assumed that the nightmares came from what happened with my wife. It did in a way, but the nightmares started before that. Her suffering just made it worse. And really, what happened to her is what matters now. It is what bothers Margaret.

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