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We got married in her parents’ backyard and haven’t been apart since. We started our family immediately and I brought her and the kids out on the road with me. Yolanda turned hotel suites into our home, Billie and Theo grew up with baby headphones ten feet from the stage. She even hired a private tutor who traveled with us until Billie wanted to go to a “real school.”

All my beautiful wife ever wanted was to have her family all in one place, so she kept us together. She’s our glue.

During the off months, we rented a house until Billie was thirteen. Neither of us came from much so were content to live frugally. Finally, our accountant sat us down and demanded we buy a home. Almost out of spite, Yolanda found this huge house on Lake Washington. Then grumbled the whole way through the purchase process about entitled celebrities.

The day we moved in she stood in the middle of this room, which is the size of a church parish, and asked me how a person was supposed to pick out furniture. Despite her disdain for ostentatiousness, Yolanda took charge and we’ve had over a decade of wonderful memories here.

Everything changed a little over a year ago when Yolanda’s energy levels plummeted. She started napping at all hours of the day and the doctors couldn’t figure it out. She decided to stay home during Limelight’s summer tour, which was the first time we’d slept apart in nearly twenty years.

Around this time, a pain in her back became so severe we had it scanned. A week later, we were facing a cancer diagnosis and treatment plan laid out in a room with the tissues already set out on the table.

In the parking garage after, I was shaking so hard I couldn’t get the key in the ignition. She took it out of my hand, told me to cry if I needed to and then suck it up because she needed me to help her beat it.

Together, we’ve been fighting this disease ever since. My strong wife has never once complained. When Yolanda lost her hair, she bought a wig and put it on Theo’s dog to make us laugh. We flew across the country for a trial and binged garbage TV while she sat with a needle in her arm. She completely changed her diet. Researched alternative cures relentlessly. Always found time to reassure our kids everything would be fine.

I’ve never seen anyone fight to be alive the way she has.

This spring it looked like she’d won. The scans came back clean. Her hair grew in with a bit of gray at the temples. She came back out for a few tour dates with me and gave my bandmates hell. We drove out to the coast and walked along the beach hand in hand.

God, I let myself believe it was behind us.

A few weeks ago, the cycle started again. Relentlessly. This time we found out it spread to her liver and the best we could do was keep her comfortable.

Sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, I conjure up the image of Yolanda chasing the tide with her regrown hair blowing in the wind and realize it was the last time I’ll ever believe in anything ever again…

Yolanda’s eyes open.

Surprisingly, they’re clear. For two days, she’s been lost somewhere in a fog I couldn’t penetrate. Now, she finds my face.

My hand begins shaking hard. Enough that she’d give me hell if she had the energy to scold.

“Hey.” I wrestle my voice down to some semblance of calm. “There you are.”

Her lips move with no sound. I lean down and put my ear to them.

“You look terrible,” she wheezes.

A laugh breaks in half. All of our years together, and she still gets me on this one joke. I’d give back every record on the wall for her to repeat it.

Somewhere deep inside, I realize it’ll be the last time.

Her fingers press my palm. I go still, because there’s almost nothing left of her and she’s chosen to spend the last of her energy on me. “Billie’s going to be all right, she’ll want to mother you. Don’t let her.” A rasp of sound. “Theo won’t call you on his own. Reach out. Make special effort to be there for him.”

“Whatever you say.” Tears stream down my face. “I promise, Yo.”

She squeezes my hand with whatever strength remains. “You’re the one I’m scared for.”

I’ve got nothing to reassure her with.

“I know what you’ll do.” She stops, gathers air. “You’ll putter around this stupid, big house with my pictures on every wall. You’ll hide from the world, be alone, and you’ll call it loving me.”

I gulp down a sob.

“Don’t.” Her eyes hold mine, nothing soft left. My wife to the last moment. “You were dead when I found you. I want you to continue living a great life when I go.”

I rest my head down on the mattress against her shoulder, and everything I’ve suppressed since the first day we found out she was terminal releases at once.

I’m the one who reads the scans and makes the calls and stands in the hall with the doctors so my kids don’t have to hear bad news. When our home care is on break, I’m the one who feeds her, helps her to the bathroom, wipes the sweat off her brow.