As I grow older
I see shades of grey.
Black and white disappearing.
Right and wrong?
Largely gone.
There are gradients,
with space there
for compassion.

If making mistakes
Is part of growth
My mistakes
Are certainly helping me grow.

The thing that hurt most
was no touch,
no talk, no intimacy.
Or acknowledgement of my pain.
That coloured my everything grey,
and made my efforts feel futile.
Made our life seem fake.
Pretend.
You settled into a life
of grey subsistence.
When I wanted
all the colours.

I took a walk this morning
in the cooler air
before the hot summer day
kicked in.

Seeking peace
and finding some today.
Surrounded by butterflies,
beautiful golden cloud,
reminder of the joy of life.

Startling a lizard,
chirping birds,
hearing the kookaburra call.
Kangaroo and joey
resting in the shade.

Golden butterfly
waiting on my front door.
Wings flapping a slow rhythm
like a beating heart,
beating for me.

The advice was
'Support him,
try to help him.
He needs sleep when he’s tired
(even if it’s all day).'
'Try to talk to him,
he’s hurting inside.
Help him,
he needs you.'

I believed that,
and I tried.
I tried until
I felt almost gone
My words disappeared!
A glass pane formed
between myself and the world.

I didn't know
I could go too far.
Give too much support.
No-one says that,
who would have thought?

I didn’t know
support can become a crutch.
He could settle,
no need to improve.
Who would have thought?

Depression is real.
It just doesn’t mean
that you are first always,
or that you don't need to try
or talk to your spouse.
That was just -
taking advantage.