From Dusk Till Dawn

Chapter Ten

Two days were left before Amy will have her surgery. We sat in the balcony, a newly discovered habit of us that was a complete blessing. The night breeze fanned my face as I read through the pages of the novel in my hand. The moon hung high in the dark sky watching over us as swirls of stars danced around it. We were sitting in separate chairs opposite from one another. Amy had her legs extended that her feet were resting on my lap. Again we stayed like that for hours until past midnight. The soft light of dusk was vivid in her eyes and moonlight fell on her hair making it shine more brightly. In the moments that elapsed, we sat listening to nothing but the words flowing steadily from my lips as I read on trying to capture her expressions as I went on through the novel.

In the morning I prepared Amy's bag for the night she was going to spend in the hospital. I was still worried and overwhelmed by her cheerfulness. She was so depressed about the whole thing that she stayed months without leaving the house, then all of a sudden she was back to her normal self with much more optimism. As positive as I was for the surgery, I still was anxious. There was always what if. What if it didn't work? What if it just gave us false hope? And worse than that; what if the surgery negatively affected Amy?

I was holding on to the small thread of hope with all I got, but I couldn't deny my fear. I knew deep down if the surgery didn't work, Amy would be wrecked. It was so strange that at first the whole family was happy with the news but Amy alone was not buying it. Suddenly it all turned the other way around as we all began to realize that we still had so little hope. Suddenly we all drifted away from our optimism and sunk into reality. Amy, in contrast, was the one who started to float upward with much hope. She, bit by bit, began to believe she will regain her vision. She had everything planned for when she's back from the hospital. My prayers didn't stop, nor did hers. I was only praying that no matter what happens, it doesn't break her heart. It was not about her sight anymore, it was about a faith that might get shattered forever. It was about a dream that will break into pieces. A life that will forever change in a way none of us could predict. Amy was strong enough to handle blindness for as long as she did, but the despair of a failed surgery was a completely different level. The day of Amy's arrival at the hospital was on the weekend thus, I spent the whole morning with her. Peanut was all over her clinging and biting on her clothes. As if he secretly didn't want her to leave. I prepared our breakfast and put lots of food for Peanut to distract him from us as long as possible. He didn't finish eating though before he jumped on Amy's lap again.

The night before, Amy and I had made love. It was for assurance that we both needed Throughout the past months we have adapted to our life as a husband and a wife and many things returned back to normal. Making love wasn't a rare event in the past period but it wasn't familiar either. Something twisted after the accident and I always feared to make her uncomfortable. When we did it, it was always different than before. I was more cautious and she was less responsive. Last night, however, we knew we needed that. The closeness. The warmth. All of it. We wanted to assure each other that everything was going to end up well. That we will be alright. I wanted her to know that nothing changed and nothing will. My love for her never lessened it only grows every passing minute of every day. Even if I fail to show it sometimes but my love for Amy is the air to my lungs. It is every beat of my heart. I needed her to reassure me as well. To tell me she believed in me. That what we had was stronger than all of this. It gets tough, most of the time, but I wanted to know we were still alright. I needed that night of love making as much as she did. To break the tiny barriers that were beginning to gradually form between us. Being Amy's source of support was my aim all along, I know I said multiple times that I don't see her blindness as a flaw, and indeed it wasn't. With her vision or not, being blind didn't make her any less of a human, No blind person is ever flawed by their inability to see. But it was me who was overly flawed. I was so less of a man than she deserved. Over the past weeks, I have come to realize, I was someone that I don't want to be around. I was someone, I didn't want to deal with. It pains me just thinking about it, about how blind I was to the effort Amy was making. And it kills me from the inside, thinking about how unappreciated I used to make Amy feel.

When we reached the hospital, I helped Amy out of the car. My mum was there waiting for us and the Collins had arrived a few minutes later than us. Ellie took Amy in a hug that lasted longer than their usual hugs. I stood there, with Amy's bag over my shoulder, along with everyone else as we waited for the nurse who'll guide Amy to her private room. Fifteen minutes later, Amy's private room was all set with an extra bed for one of the family to spend the night with her. When Mr. Collins and I first saw the extra bed we both looked at one another in an essentially challenging way. Yes, I was the one who gets to spend the most time with Amy but I still wanted to spend the night with her to make sure everything was fine. I didn't budge to speak though. Nor did my father in law. After considering it, however, I came to think that maybe it was only fair if he was the one to spend the night with his daughter. Besides the obvious fact that Peanut would have to spend the night alone and I didn't have the heart to ditch him like that. What ended up happening, nonetheless, was that Mrs. Collins got to stay with Amy. It was Amy who decided that. I wasn't at all offended when she did that, for I understood she will want to spend time with her mother. Also, she too wouldn't want me to ditch Peanut. We all stayed with Amy for as long as was allowed by the hospital. Subsequently, all except Amy's mother had to leave. "I'll be here early in the morning before you even wake up," I had assured Amy, planting a kiss on her smooth lips. She flashed me a genuine smile, "I love you," She said in return. "I love you too. I love you so much." I spoke the words quietly and unhurried to assure her. We had one last kiss that tugged at the strings of my heart before I left. Ellie and Mr. Collins said their goodbyes to each other and to me and Mum before they left each on their way. "What's on your mind, darling?" Mum put a hand softly on my shoulder. I felt relieved by the gesture but my head stayed cast downward as if my shoes were the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm just worried about her." The tremor in my voice was dominating my words. Mum responded with a pat on my shoulder that said, I'm here for you. "What if it didn't turn out well?" At those words, my voice broke completely. "Hey," she held my face in both her hands and forced me to look at her welcoming eyes as she continued. "She's going to be alright, she's a fighter. And so are you. Do you ever doubt your love for each other?" I shook my head no, without speaking. "Do you?" Mum asked again more firmly. "No, I don't. We love each other unconditionally." I replied trying to get a hold of my emotions. "Then you'll be alright. Both of you. Only when it's unconditional, love is genuine. I want you to always remember that. And I want you to know that you are still the same people, one sloppy accident shouldn't take your love away."

I nodded with my face still between my mum's palms. Of all the things in the world, I knew her words were true. Nothing could ever make me love Amy any less, this I was sure of. I would fight for her for the rest of my living days. And truth be told, I didn't fall in love with Amy because of her ability to see. I fell in love with her for her ability to feel. The way she felt everything so deeply and the sympathy she had in her piece of gold of a heart was of the many things that drew me to love her. And in those many things, her sight wasn't listed. At times that was the legitimate truth, and at other times they were words I used to convince myself that we'll be fine. To convince myself that I was capable of going through all of this and that my love for Amy is strong enough to conquer any obstacle in our path.

The phone call of Mr. Collins that brought us hope was like a miracle on a Christmas night. Nevertheless, it had ended as soon as it began for the light at the end of the tunnel was nothing but the train that ran over the only glimpse of hope we had left. What I feared had come true.