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Suddenly, we fall into another comfortable silence and look at each other, smiles tugging at both of our lips.
“You know I love you?" He asks, his voice quiet. Serious, even. It feels like the entire room is in a deep sleep. Except for us. And we’re trying not to wake it…
"Yes."
I’m sure there’s a hint of something negative that flashes in my eyes. There’s so much pain mounting inside of me. Because he clears his throat
“Do you know you’re beautiful?”
He’s told me so many times.
I look down to my lap and fidget with my hands. There’s a tear threatening to fall. But I can’t cry… not right now.
“If anything happens…” he says, with a choked voice. “I just want you to be happy…and if someone else makes you feel that way…after…”
“Don’t.”
I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to think about it. Let alone think about someone else.
He smiles faintly. “Just be happy…”
“You’re going to make it…” I say. “You’re going to beat it…”
He nods, smiling a sad smile. I can tell he doesn’t believe it. ***
“It’s spread…” he tells me. It feels like only yesterday he told me about the cancer; and if it spreads, it’ll be incurable.
I stand there. Frozen.
Broken.
Terminal…
How else should I react? My husband just told me chemo didn’t work. He just told me he’s dying…
He smiles at me encouragingly. “It’s going to be OK…”
That’s one thing I love most about him. Even when he’s weak…Hell, even when he’s terminal… he somehow finds the strength to smile. This man has taught me what it means to smile, in all honesty. But, dammit… I wish he could understand how it also makes me want to break his neck.
I’m the one being left here, alone, with five kids…and a lifetime of pain and suffering from his loss.
Not him. He just gets to die and be done with everything.
I’m pissed at him, though I know it’s not his fault.
Who else could I be pissed with?
"Can I tell you a secret?" He says gingerly, wiping away a tear from my eye before pulling me into a tight hug. My heart pounds in my chest as he envelopes me in his arms, holding him close to me. I nuzzle into his chest and take a deep breath. I smell his cologne.
It’s spicy.
Masculine…
I love this smell…
"Anything," I respond in tears.
I take shuddery breath after shuddery breath, as if preparing myself for the next moment to be worse than the one before it.
