My wife has been blind for a while now. I think it was roughly three years ago that she was diagnosed with severe glaucoma.
There was very little that could be done to help slow her descent into darkness. All I could do was comfort her.
"Listen, Honey," I said one night, laying in bed. "For as long as you can't see, I will close my eyes so we can get through this together."
She argued, said it was stupid, even. But I could tell that she was comforted.
I have kept my promise. We learned how to deal with the abyss, live with it. Together. I never opened my eyes. Not when she laughed and I wanted to see her smile. Not when I sang to her at night.
Not when we made love. Not even after the screaming, and later when she stopped talking to me.
She still loves me, even now that she's mute and blind. I can feel it. I can almost feel that beautiful smile radiating from her. Barely catch the scent of her perfume and shampoo.
I just want to see her, one last time.
I awoke in the morning next to her with my eyes closed (I trained myself to do this) and decided it was time to take just a peek.
I opened my eyes very slowly. It was so bright. My vision was completely blurred at first, just various colors. Then, my blood ran cold.
What I saw was the most vile, revolting thing I could ever possibly imagine: no one.