I Tried to Fight My Urges, but I Fell for My Husband’s Best Friend

Daily, I leaned on my husband’s best friend. He was a kind, gentle soul who fell for one too many monetary scams. And he was always willing to listen to those in need. I needed him for my survival. As it turned out, I wanted him for so much more. I fought my urges, so powerful at times that I had to distance myself from his presence for days at a time.

Time apart did not quell my urges. I fantasized about becoming intimate and even imagined us together in the future, although, in my heart, I knew it could never become a reality. My husband even joked that his friend and I would make a great couple because we had so many traits in common. He was an avid reader, an excellent writer and one of the wittiest people on the planet. Outwardly, I shrugged off my husband’s comments. But every once in a while, I’d get a glance from his friend that made me think he shared this sentiment.

Then, as fate would have it, as my husband grew stronger, a tumor began growing inside his best friend. Once it was discovered, it was too large to remove. The cancer had spread beyond treatment.

I was devastated. How could God be so cruel as to afflict both men I loved with this horrible disease?

With no family nearby, no wife and no children, our friend moved into our home. After all, we were closer than blood. I knew he had to come live with us, but I wasn’t sure I could handle having him this close.

I did the shopping and the cleaning, which left his daily care to my husband. If a doctor suggested our friend eat greens, my husband bought kale and spinach, creatively incorporating them into his cooking. When our friend became too weak to walk, my husband helped him down the hallway. When our friend needed to cry, my husband caught his tears.

But it wasn’t all sadness. These men also shared a great sense of humor, which lasted until the very end.

Shortly after moving into our spare room, I asked our friend if he was comfortable. I was willing to do anything to keep him out of pain.

“Yeah. The bed’s good,” he said. “But this room feels like I’m living inside Storage Wars.”

I guess this was his nice way of commenting on the clutter.

On one of my husband’s particularly hard days, his friend suggested he join a therapy group. My husband replied, “Right. The only place I’m going to find one is at a kennel.”

And so, the days progressed. With laughter and tears. My husband became stronger as our friend grew weaker until he finally lost his battle. He died in our home, holding on to my husband’s hand, tugging at my heart until his final breath.

After his passing our house felt empty. Each time the screen door slammed, I was jolted back to those days when our friend would sit outside in the sun and fall asleep with a book on his lap.

I think back to all the things I didn’t say to him. I wanted to ask if he was afraid. I wish now I had crawled into bed beside him and told him that I was afraid. Could he give me some kind of sign when he got to the other side?

More than anything I wanted him to know how much I cared for him. I didn’t say what was in my heart because I always thought there would be another time. More often than not, there never is.

Now when my husband yells at me or demands something, I close my eyes and I hear his best friend’s voice in my head: Be calm. He needs your understanding. Your husband is different these days.

Fact is, I’m different too. I’m a better person for having known and loved my husband’s best friend.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.