weeping in the courtyard

I hope to hell that this is the last thing I will ever write about love and commitment. The very idea makes me squirmy. So I will phrase it as advice. If you care about someone enough to visit them in hospital, and the doctor asks who you are, have a bloody answer. Even if it's not exactly right.

Acceptable answers could include:

I am her: boyfriend, ex-husband, roommate, partner, lover, friend, boss, drinking buddy, teammate, colleague, dog-walker, parole officer. . .

But take just 2 seconds to give that relationship a name. Names make things real. People deserve names, and relationships are all we really have. I know that one word is not enough to describe everything between you. I don't need to know all that is. Lie to me if you need to. But suck it up, and put that person and that relationship ahead of your desire to be liked/respected/understood by a total stranger.

"Her. . . I, uh, live with her. . . Her common-law . . . whatever, I guess".

I am so so sorry lonely woman. Lonely woman who is so sick and so pleasant and young enough to die. And probably will die soon. You deserve to be loved better. Your "whatever" is a lousy jerk, and he is letting you down yet again.

And that shit makes me cry.