The truest essence of love is not for someone else to make you happy, but to be made happy simply by knowing the one you love is happy.

The Less I Have, the Richer I've Become

Two years ago, I had what appeared to be, a charmed life. A great husband, a good job with the largest hospital system in the area, a lovely home in the suburbs, a Mercedes in the driveway, pool in the backyard, a dog, two cats, and grandchildren who came to stay every summer. We had an enormous comfort zone. Sure, we worked hard at it -our jobs during the weekdays, and for me, weekends and holidays. On our shared weekends off, yard work, garden work, renovation work. Work, work, work. But the payoffs were, as the list above indicates, what drove us, and we thought we were pretty happy. And then, my husband got sick. Not just a little sick. Very sick. Almost died kind of sick. And everything changed. I spent long hours at the hospital – either at my job, or visiting my husband, negotiating with the team of doctors, all of whom included, at one time or another, a hepatologist, an orthopedist, an endocrinologist, a cardiologist, a nutritionist. Juggling. Being angry that the man it took nearly all my adult life (we met when I was 40) was going to be taken away from me all too soon. Being angry that the doctors couldn’t make him well. Being angry at anything or anyone besides my husband who needed me, because at the worst point, I was needy, and I felt incredibly alone. Being angry at everything we had, because without him, it all meant nothing to me. The anger got me through a lot of tough days and nights, I have to admit. It was what sometimes kept me going when I would have much rather stayed in bed with the covers pulled over my head in the despair I felt. But the anger was eating me alive, as I sunk deeper and deeper into it. Keeping up appearances requires a tremendous amount of energy. I was fired from my job. I got even more angry, feeling I’d been betrayed by my own industry that demands so much for our patients but gives so little to those who care for them exhaustively. My husband was getting worse. I got even more angry. I couldn’t have my grandchildren for the summer, and I missed them. I become even more angry as vestiges of what was our idyllic life slipped away before me in grass that needed to be mowed, repairs that were started but left unfinished because I couldn’t handle them alone – physically or financially. And then, I decided enough was enough. I cut my already short gray hair to less than a half inch…I was sick of it feeling hot, and I didn’t have the time for appearances. I felt liberated, the first glimmer of liberation I’d felt in months. As a result of the short hair, I didn’t have to spend money on hair products, and found a recipe for homemade hair care products from household items that lacked chemicals. I made them, and used them, and no one was any worse the wear for it. So I started making all of our household cleaning products from vinegar, baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and tea tree oil. The savings was palpable, and I felt like I was not only being fiscally responsible, I was being ecologically responsible, and exposing my husband to fewer toxins. We decided to eschew the recommended treatment modalities, and sought the expertise of a doctor 1800 miles away. In order to fund our trip and the treatment, which was off label, out of pocket and uncovered by insurance, we began to sell the things we rarely used – the trappings of our comfortable life in the suburbs. At first, I was anxious, depressed, and still angry – we’d worked so hard for all of this. Would it work? Would we be left with nothing? What would we be left with in the end but perhaps his illness and nothing else? We went, and the empirical data indicated success with the treatment. He’ll never be cured, but my husband will have a quality life. Because we couldn’t afford to keep making the trip every three months, we decided to move there, as a result, the divestiture of our life in the suburbs continued. We are planning a move from a 5 bedroom, 3 bath home to a 3 bedroom, 2 bath apartment. We are leaving all but the necessary behind, the rest has been given away to our children and friends, thrown away, or sold at yard sales and eBay. We stopped going out for dinner – unable to afford restaurants, and opting for a raw, vegan or vegetarian meal for my husband’s health. I didn’t need nice clothes to wear – I lived in my old jeans and scrubs. And the more that went, the lighter the load, and the more liberated we became from our lifestyle, the richer we became in love, and gratitude, and things that really matter in life – at least, the things that really matter to us. The anger has subsided, and now, when I step onto the inversion table to work that spasm from my back out, I can clear my mind – even if for only five minutes, and feel lighter, and happier again. We feel hopeful again. We laugh. We dream. And despite the “For Sale” sign on the Mercedes, the now emptied attics, crawlspace and rooms in this cavernous house, we have realized that our home is really in the heart of each other, and we have much to be grateful for. Most importantly, we’re happier. We no longer work for something that says who we are. We ARE who we are. Not a whole lot of status, but much substance. And because of that, we are richer every day for having less.