Looking back, remembering the way you taught - so many students learned to think for themselves because of the joy you took in teaching. You influenced so many young lives for the better, I think the effect must have been exponentially Good. The light in your eyes - that light which I'm sure my mother fell in love with - never shone so bright as when you were in a classroom, talking about Plato's cave, or Aristotle's Golden Mean. I hope the memory of those times stays with you, even if all others fail.
I've come to accept that it's too late for you to step out of the cave your current wife has crafted for you. I've given up the idea of you knocking down her walls in a burst of comprehension. I have given up on us. It's in your hands, now, and I know that your hands will stay as still as they have been all these years. I miss you, and I mourn. But I'm choosing to remember your happiness, and mine, because there's nothing more I can do to bring you back. An attack on her walls would only reinforce them; my silence reinforces them further - our relationship is in your paralyzed hands. So I grieve, and in my memories I skip those times that you have been still. I remember those times your were alive, animated, teaching. You were happy, and so was I. I'm grateful for those times, and I hope they stay with you, too.