A Version Of The Truth is a memoir that offers an intimate look at a unique relationship. It began in the 1980s, lasted for nearly 40 years, and suddenly, at the end, there was a twist. Back at the beginning, many Baby Boomers like my partner Jack and I explored the new relationship rules that grew when we were young adults during “the summer of love.” Many of us eschewed traditional marriage, with its “in sickness or in health” agreement, and now, as we approach our 70s and 80s, one of us has fallen ill. When there are no marriage vows or even “domestic partnership,” how does the relationship navigate this new territory? That was my challenge.

For most of our long relationship, although we spent only two nights a week together and never married or shared a home, I relied on Jack for advice, emotional support, and hands-on DIY projects of every sort. We saw one another through houses, cars, careers, crises and celebrations. He even helped me overcome my lifelong fear of dogs and I became a greyhound rescuer and owner. But in the last decade of our time together, things shifted.

My job as a psychotherapist had made no physical demands, but Jack had been a construction worker. Those requirements took a permanent toll on his health and by the time we had been together for 35 years he had faced multiple surgeries, a heart attack, a mild stroke, and prostate cancer that needed to be carefully monitored. I helped him as best I could, but since we had no formal agreement, like many couples in our generation, I had no role in managing his health. A lifelong Renaissance man who prided himself on his independence, he was determined to face these challenges on his own. He did allow me to use my computer to monitor his doctor’s appointments and medication, but that didn’t help when his memory began to fail and, as I learned after one harrowing experience, he had stopped paying his bills and his phone service had been discontinued. He finally agreed to a regimen that meant he’d bring his mail and checkbook to my house once a week, I would open the bills and write the checks, he would sign them and I’d mail them from the mailbox at my curb. It was a band-aid effort and I knew things couldn’t go on this way.

I also knew I wasn’t alone. There are thousands of us Baby Boomers who dodged the formalities as young adults and who now were without a safety net as we faced our partners’ health concerns. So, when it’s not blood ties or written decrees, what title do we invoke when, say, we’re on hold with our partner’s cardiologist or oncologist while his office decides if they can talk to us? How do I label the role I’ve been playing since Reagan was president?

There’s a twist at the end of this memoir that shocked me, rocked my friends and family, and still reverberates. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, so let’s agree that the folks who come up with those titles and labels will probably never invent a name for this emerging life situation, its demands, and its aftermath.

About the Author

Marsh Rose is an author, freelance writer and psychotherapist. Her preferred genre is memoir and creative nonfiction, and her short stories and essays have appeared in a variety of publications including Cosmopolitan Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, Salon and Carve Magazine among others. Her essay, “False Memory,” won first prize for creative nonfiction from New Millennium Writings in 2018 and she was a winner in Tulip Tree’s “Wild Women” contest, June/July 2025, for her essay “Dinosaur Rock.” She has also authored two novels, Lies and Love in Alaska and Escape Routes. Marsh began her writing life at the age of 14 as a cub reporter in Massachusetts, changed careers when she became a licensed psychotherapist in 1992, and now divides her time among writing, her on-line psychotherapy practice, and her passion for rescuing racing greyhounds. She lives in the wine country in northern California with her greyhound, Adin.

Here is the link to her website: https://www.marshroseauthor.com/