I nursed my husband full time through the last three years of his life, three dreadful years as I watched him deteriorate to become a vegetable. Three years of making excuses for his increasing verbal abuse. Language that was never previously a part of his vocabulary; all down to the illness with him not knowing what he was saying. There were more years than I care to remember of not knowing what it was like to be held by a man, kissed or made love to. Those last three years was like living in purgatory, continually feeling I was being dragged down to hell as my own health suffered, at times wishing he would die. If it wasn't for our son Tyler, who tormented the life out of me, ensuring that I ate, remained clean and fit and maintained my dress standards, I think that I would have passed away before him. The day he died I'm ashamed to say that I was relieved, pleased even, although I couldn't show it.
Tyler, my son, who still lived at home realized just how much weight had been lifted from my shoulders and spoke openly of the suffering and the torment I was subjected to. After my husband's body had been taken away to prepare him for burial Tyler held me in his arms to console me, kissing me on the forehead. He insisted that I go and soak in the tub and relax for an hour and make myself beautiful, his words not mine, insisting that he take me out for the evening.
Even wearing my best dress, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was an old woman, a dowdy old woman, wondering how my son would want to take me out looking like this. As I walked down the stairs Tyler was very complementary telling me how beautiful I looked, we both knew he was exaggerating, but I loved him for it anyway. He was a perfect gentleman, offering me his arm when we got outside, opening the car door for me, then shutting it after ensuring that I was safe and comfortable. We drove for about an hour, I asked where we were going Tyler said that he knew of this restaurant which was off the beaten track. He thought it unlikely that we would meet anyone we knew, thereby preventing any embarrassment with people extending their sympathy, or the need to explain our motives for being there. After surprising me with a quick kiss on the lips said, "What the gossipers don't know they can't talk about."
We had a very nice time at the restaurant, Tyler, when we spoke called me by my first name, Tracy or Trace, as his father called me. I think because of the romantic atmosphere, and crowded mainly with young couples, he refused to acknowledge me as his mother, and so I became his lady friend for the evening. Our meal was great and after sharing a bottle of wine we smooched around the dance floor packed with young couples. Having finished the first bottle of wine Tyler ordered a second which if my recollection is correct I drunk most of. I have never been a big drinker one glass of wine has usually been my limit, what enticed me to drink so much more that night I will never know. What with the restaurant's ambience, relief of not having to attend to my husband and with an opportunity to let my hair down, probably for the first time in my life, I went overboard. I remember nothing of the journey home or going to bed, but woke up the next morning in bed hung over, wearing just my underclothes, my dress neatly folded and placed over the chair back.
Grabbing a robe I made my way downstairs, Tyler raised his head as I entered the kitchen, the grin on his face just got bigger and bigger. "That was quite a night mom, how do you feel?" Having suggested that he ask less stupid questions, I likened my condition to being kicked in the head by a herd of stampeding horses. Would I like breakfast? As if I could eat anything, but Tyler insisted that I should eat something and slipped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. I wanted to know how I came to be in bed in just my underclothes. Tyler told me he took my dress off so that it wouldn't get creased and since the room was dark and he kept his eyes shut, my dignity was untarnished.
Every time I wore that dress there was always problems doing the buttons up, and worse problems undoing them. It was highly unlikely that Tyler could remove my dress in a dark room with his eyes shut. I began to wonder just how much of my body he saw and if he deliberately peeked or even touched me. From what I remember about our closeness, and the way he held me while we danced, I couldn't tell whether I was sad or pleased that my dignity was untarnished. For the first time in my life I began to look at my son in a different light.
For the next week we prepared for the funeral, by the end of which we had almost got over the stage where people were sending their condolences. Tyler suggested that I needed to buy a new outfit for the funeral, because when I tried on and showed him the black clothes from my closet, he said, and I agreed, that they were old and shabby. Tyler told me exactly what to buy a black skirt with the hem just below knee level, black satin or silk blouse and black lingerie. He ended up taking me shopping ensuring I bought items which pleased him. When I tried the items on they seemed a little bit on the risqué side compared to those clothes I had in my wardrobe. For the first time in my life I was going to wear, what I considered clothes that were sexy, not just to please myself but to please someone else, my son. My son, I wanted to look nice to please my son, nobody else just him.
The day before the funeral I paid one of my rare visits to the hairdressers, and the morning of the funeral when I came downstairs dressed all in black, Tyler said that I looked beautiful. Tyler assisted by his sister Ann had everything organized, the food, the drink, he had taken full charge and all we had to do that morning was lay it out. Things got a bit of a tight squeeze when we extended the leaves either end of the table. Several times we rubbed up against each other, sometimes facing each other where Tyler's chest would brush across my breasts. Sometimes his pelvis would brush against my butt, or my pelvis would brush against his butt, we never seemed to pass back to back, with butts brushing against each other. I'm pretty sure it became a bit of a game, with him waiting for me to be standing at the table. Not that I minded, at least I was getting some attention and enjoying it to a certain extent, even though it was from my son.
The funeral service was on a Tuesday, early in the afternoon, a religious affair as requested by my husband. It wasn't until the casket was being lowered into the grave that I was overcome and nearly collapsed, grabbing Tyler who supported me for the rest of the service. Most of the mourners returned to the house, where really I could have done without them and their sympathy. Tyler and Ann were a tower of strength making sure everybody got something to eat and drink, I did what I could and a couple of friends helped out, with everyone seemingly satisfied. Most stayed for a couple of hours then began to drift away, finally leaving Tyler, Ann and my two friends who helped to clear most of the things away before saying their farewells. When Ann said that she was about to leave, and noticing that I was tired and upset suggested that I go and lie on the bed for an hour, leaving Tyler with the last few things to clear away.
Tyler must have come upstairs and heard me sobbing, after it dawned on me that I was now a widow and alone with little prospects on how I was going to survive. There was no way I could rely on Tyler to support me he was obviously going to get married even if it was later rather than sooner, although he never had a girl friend at that time. I heard my bedroom door open, then felt movement on the bed as Tyler eased himself alongside, pulling me into his arms, attempting to pacify me as I snuggled closer to him. No words were spoken, laying safely in his arms, my sadness temporarily forgotten as I listened to him breathe. Thinking back I tried to remember when a man last held me on a bed in this manner. When someone held me so close that my breasts were pressed tight against them, allowing me to feel the rise and fall of their chest.
Suddenly I almost stopped breathing, obviously Tyler could feel the pressure of my breasts against his chest, but there seemed to be a stirring lower down. Time passed, nothing, but wait there it was again; Tyler shifted his position moving slightly away from me. I became curious wondering if our closeness was causing him to become excited. Under the pretext of getting more comfortable I eased myself closer to him, pressing tighter against him than before. Momentarily I slightly increased the pressure between us, then eased back proving to myself that he was sporting an erection, our closeness seemed to be causing my son to become aroused. The circumstances were unusual, how could a son have sexual thoughts about his mother, if that in fact was the case.
