I held her hand. It was warm in mine, and I pressed it against my cheek. She turned to me, her evergreen eyes smiling at me.
“Are you scared?”
She whispered. I nodded. How could I not be?
“What are you afraid of?”
She asked me. I considered her question for a moment, before finally answering.
“Being alone.”
She nodded, as if that had been the most profound thing she had ever heard. She gave my hand a squeeze and I felt once again the butterflies in my stomach. She leaned over and kissed me, and I tried to enjoy every second it lasted, because I wasn’t sure how many more of these I was going to get. She drew back, and I smiled feebly at her. I just couldn’t seem to muster up a true smile when the future seemed so dark and uncertain. I looked back down at our entwined fingers, smiling at the gleaming ring she wore on her ring finger. I played with it, twisting it around on her finger. She slapped my arm playfully,
“Stop it!”
She said with laughter in her voice. It was then that the door was flung open, and the silhouette of the doctor stood in the doorway. He stepped in, and by the look on his face, I knew the news wasn’t good.
“We’ve received the results from the tests.”
He said, seeming to draw out the suspense. I hated him for it. I hated him for making us wait anxiously, I hated him for being the one to bring us the bad news, I hated him for ever being born. I sat agitated, and yet I couldn’t move, I felt like I couldn’t even breathe. The doctor continued, this time showing some remorse for what he was about to do to us,
“I’m sorry,” He said, looking down at the clipboard in his hands, “It’s cancer. And it’s too far along for us to do anything.”
I stared, my breathe along with my voice caught in my throat. I slumped down, covering my face with my hands. I was too scared, too upset to cry. I just sat there, face buried in hands. Finally I looked up,
“How long?”
I whispered. The words were painful, grating along my throat, coming out dry and scratchy.
“Pardon me?”
The doctor asked. He hadn’t understood. I swallowed and tried again.
“How long?”
It was hardly any better, but this time the doctor was able to understand my unintelligible words. He scratched his chin, as if stroking at an invisible beard,
“Anywhere from as little as a month, to six months.”
He said thoughtfully. My heart was crushed with every word. A month? Six months? It was all too short! I began crying into my hands, whimpering pitifully. I was a sorry sight, I knew, but what else could I do when she was being taken away from me? The doctor seemed unaware of the deep pit of despair I now resided in, because he continued on.
“Of course we can go through treatments, chemotherapy, radiation… But really it is too far along to do much good.”
Too far along. Too far along. The words echoed in my head. Why hadn’t we gotten it checked out sooner. Why?!
She knelt beside me. I hadn’t realized that I had slid down to the ground. Again I saw her wedding ring, our wedding ring on her finger. I sobbed again. She put her arms around me and I cried into her shoulder.
“This isn’t happening.”
I muttered.
“It’s all a bad dream.”
“Shhhhh.”
She shushed me softly.
“It’s not a dream.”
I looked into her eyes.
“Why do you have to say that? Why can’t it be a dream?’
“Because sometimes you need to wake up and face reality.”
I loved her and hated her at the same time. I wanted it all to be fake, I wanted her to be with me always, I couldn’t imagine a life without her. And yet here she was, telling me to cast away my hope, and to face the grim reality of a life without her. It was like imagining a life without light.
“I can’t. I can’t live without you.’
I said, still sobbing into her shoulder. She shushed me again, then turned to the doctor and nodded to him, thanking him. Thanking him for what? For ruining our lives? For taking away our happiness? She pulled me to my feet, and pulled me out of the little office. Once outside she pulled me close, hugging me. I didn’t look at her face, but I knew she was crying now too. I could feel her tears splashing down on my neck. We stood there, both crying, both unsure of what to do, or what the future would hold. That moment seemed to last an eternity, like the world froze for a moment, allowing us to savor this moment of being together. Finally we broke apart, although our hands still remained intertwined. She tried to let go, but I wouldn’t let her. I was determined to hold her hand throughout all of this. This hand was mine, it belonged to me. The way we should have belonged to each other. But now she belonged to fate. My beautiful wife belonged to death. I made her climb through the driver’s seat to get to the passenger seat so we could keep holding hands. She didn’t complain, I like to think that maybe she understood, and that she wanted to keep holding my hand too. I’ll never know. I never asked her.
Somehow we made it home. I never let go of her hand. As we pulled into the driveway I could see that relatives had already gathered. This time she made me get out the passenger side. We walked up to the door, and I squeezed her hand, more for my support than hers. I opened the door, and sure enough, our relatives sat, waiting anxiously in the living room. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t tell them, I couldn’t be the bearer of bad news. I collapsed on the couch, overcome. She sat next to me, squeezing my hand, trying to comfort me as tears started to well up in my eyes again. She turned to the gathering and spoke simply,
“It’s cancer.”
The room suddenly erupted into sobs, and hugs, and words of,
“It’s going to be okay, we’re all going to be okay.”
Did they not understand? She was dying. It wasn’t okay. And it never would be. People came over to embrace and console me, but I hardly heard their words or felt their arms around me. I just stared blankly at a patch of carpet, not knowing what to do. She stood up, and somehow got them to go away, I think her words were, “We just need to be alone for a while.”
And they all nodded, like they understood, and left.
Neither of us ate that night. Food seemed so unimportant, we just sat with our hands entwined, silently reassuring each other that we were there. That night we lay in bed together, talking late into the night.
“I’m afraid too.”
She said suddenly.
“Of what?”
I asked.
“Of being alone.”
“Oh.”
There was an awkward silence, then she spoke again.
“But I know I don’t need to be afraid. Because you will be there, until the very end.”
I rolled over and embraced her, pulling her close to me. I rested my head on top of hers and caressed the crown of her head. After a while her breathing steadied, and I realized she was asleep. I looked down at her with mixed emotions. It was moments like these that brought me such happiness just being together, but it was also moments like these, that reminded me that someday we wouldn’t be together. I leaned down and whispered quietly in her sleeping ear,
“By the way, you are the most important person to me.”
