So, I was watching this latest version of “A Star is Born,” right? It’s a solid flick. There’s this character, Jackson Maine. The guy’s an ace at what he does, a real rock star, but the dude’s not content. You know that feeling? Like you’re searching for something to fill the void? That hit close to home.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some rock star or anything, but I’ve done a bunch of stuff pretty well. I’ve jammed out on the guitar and bass (though it’s been a while thanks to a bum shoulder), snapped photos that have won awards, even started some companies that went public (though admittedly, they haven’t done too hot).
I’ve managed to hold down a steady job, take care of the bills, and support my wife and two grown-up boys. And I’ve always tried to find bits of happiness wherever I could, you know? Like, I’ve got this cool little sports car that’s perfect for short road trips.
For nearly twenty years, I’ve been busting my butt trying to set up a steady stream of income for my family. My wife, bless her heart, used to have my back and take care of our family while I was learning the ropes and seeing the world. But she had a stroke and can’t work anymore, and that eats me up inside. I always dreamed of showing her the wonders of the world. But that dream feels more and more like a mirage now.
These days, my sanctuary is my office. It’s where I can find a moment of peace, sip on a drink, or pretend to be working. Most of the time, it’s just me in here.
Don’t get me wrong, my life’s full with my family around. I do my best to put them first, serve them as much as I can. But since my wife’s stroke, things have changed. She’s not much for planning, so I try to keep things interesting for her. Just last weekend we hit up a Mary Poppins festival, and next week there’s another event on the calendar. It tires her out, but it gets her out of the house, you know?
Still, it feels like a poor substitute for the life we dreamed of. I wanted us to live large, but reality keeps me grounded. I work, juggle everything I can to keep the fam happy. I’m always the second fiddle, always the one dealing with the nagging pain in my back and shoulder.
But what really gets to me is missing who my wife was before the stroke. I mourn for her every day. My only regret is not capturing a part of her on tape before it all happened. It’s like I’m constantly grieving for her. And man, some days, it just gets too much, and I find myself sitting here, crying.
There you have it. My life, in all its raw, unfiltered glory.
