One of the unexpected questions that creep up when you’re suddenly single is: Who will take care of you when your bones go brittle and the wrinkles get deep? Who will take care of you if you become terminally ill or have an accident of some sort that changes you and those around you – whether permanently or not.
Marriage affords you the luxury of not worrying too much about these questions, especially if you’re still in severe denial about aging (like I am). 
It’s doubtful the television show I recently watched with a character suffering from breast cancer, would’ve stung quite as much if I was still married.
When the character was found on her bathroom floor, vomit in her hair and on her face, too weak to get up, I couldn’t help but wonder: Who would pick me up off the cold floor and make sure I was tucked back into bed?
This all sounds a bit dramatic. I’m not trying to throw myself a pity party. It’s just that among many other new questions that arise with divorce, this happens to be one of them. One that simply didn’t occur to me in the past.
Though perhaps morbid to think about, it’s reality. A few of my dearest friends have spouses with a serious illnesses. And I’m talking about people in their 30’s and 40’s.
My grandmother took sole care of my grandfather as his Parkinson’s disease progressed, up until he finally passed away peacefully at home. No one in our family doubts that he would’ve lived as long as he did, with the quality of life he had, had it not been for the loving devotion of grandma.  
My maternal grandmother died from breast cancer. She didn’t have a husband, but had two daughters who took care of her in equal turns. I have one child that I’d really rather not burden with these sorts of issues.
It’s not just serious illness. It’s the flu; food poisoning; migraines; bronchitis. Your innate back-up (spouse) isn’t there anymore. You’re on your own and need to get your kid to school. So you pick yourself up off the floor, get her on the bus, then drive yourself to the store to get more ibuprofen. Call a friend or family member if it’s necessary; but then you realize that you have to start checking-in with people if you’re alone so they know you’re OK because … well … you don’t have a back-up who’s going to know you fell and twisted your ankle in the garage. 
You start wondering if you have to carry your mobile with you everywhere you go; on bad days, you wonder whether you should get a panic button to wear around your neck … just like your 95 year old grandma who lives alone. (Shit starts getting real, then.)
Illness happens. Healthy people – young and old – get sick. Usually it strikes when you don’t expect it. It’s our duty to take care of loved ones and stand by them. It’s part of the insurance package that goes along with marriage … there’s a promise in there to take care of each other. It’s just a bit disconcerting when that insurance gets ripped out underneath you (not that there are ever any guarantees – something we’d all be better off truly acknowledging).
I have no doubt my family and friends would be by my side in some kind of eventuality. They are by my side through the divorce and single parenthood.
At the same time, you have to get better at being by your own side. Taking care of yourself. Keeping yourself well as best you can. Picking yourself up off the floor. 
Even on those nights you don’t want to.