My mother had a giganto CVA (stroke) 21 years ago, when she was 59 and I was 21. She was rendered hemiplegic (lacking the use of one side of her body; in this case, the left). As is the wont of such CVAs, speech was intact. Her personality was severely affected, both by dint of disability and brain injury – she became bitter, punishing, petulant, and hostile. I grieved her following that first stroke, whether I was supposed to or not, and very little of my mother is present to date.
My father cared for her at home for eleven years while working until his own retirement at age 62. A few years later, she suffered another series of smaller strokes and lost the ability to ambulate or weight bear. With the help of my sister, who lives in our home town and has been a hospital administrator for years, he had her placed in a nursing home within walking distance of his own home when he could no longer manage. Since then, he has visited daily, for at least an hour. She has a private room for which he pays a premium as well as paying for her meds out of his own fixed income – to the tune of about 1000/month. Day before yesterday, he advised me that her advancing infirmity (to “total care” which means she must be lifted, fed puree, and is dually incontinent) demands a specific type of supportive wheelchair (she can no longer sit up unaided) – the price of which he must also absorb with help from whatever sources of aid he can access with family help. She has been in the nursing home now for more than ten years, and current indications say she could go on for another fifteen, with good nursing care. And she receives excellent nursing care.
Meanwhile, my father has moved in with a “room mate.” He pays rent to occupy a room in her condo flat (assisting him with managing his limited income), and (owing to his prostate cancer treatment) while sex is not exactly a big priority, there is plenty of affection and companionship there for him. I have gone over the years from a judgmental attitude to wishing him and his companion all the best for what remains to them both; as far as I am concerned, she is a member of the family now. He would simply be very unhappy on his own. My mother is kept unaware of the specifics of the room mate situation.
I suspect that the husband in the OP decided early on that his wife was dead – and perhaps in most ways she was – and time failed to bear out that judgment, and now it is far too late to change it. Hence his “it is too hard for me.” No doubt it is too hard for him – how do you go to your wife after eight years and say, “I’m so sorry, as far as I was concerned, you were dead”? And in order to assuage his own guilt and horror at the situation he found himself in, he rallied his children around him as accessories. He really could have done better. We could all do better when it comes to people like this. Trust me, I know – I could do better. But my father, I think, has done well with the hand he has been dealt – though many may judge him unfavourably.
My point wrt the OP is that the intimacies of such situations are like water torture – slow, gradual, and infinitely horrible. The farther away you are from the situation, the more impaired your ability to judge accurately, if you must judge at all. A phone call summing up a situation encompassing eight or nine years in a single sentence does not capture the drip by drip by drip experienced by the family, who must bear it all in excruciating awareness that everyone with a telephone is passing judgment in their unfettered spare time.