He had to do everything for her:

get her up, feed her, wash her,

the body he had once desired worn frail

by age and Parkinson's.

He had no time for himself:

an hour for the shopping

while a volunteer sat with her

in weary silence and maybe

a snatched few minutes at night

when she slept fitfully.

But when she died he missed her.

His world, previously overflowing

with exhaustion, felt empty,

lost and way too quiet.

It took him almost a year

afterwards to realise

that he still had life enough

left to fill it for himself.