We laugh and sip, and eat, and one day at dinner when the waiter asks if we’d like to see a wine list, we both shout, “No!” We agree we’ve had enough for the day.
By the time we get home, Drew’s energy begins to lag. He doesn’t complain, but I can see it in the longer naps and the earlier bed times. He’s using fentanyl patches for pain and sometimes has to use the lollipops laced with it, too. But one thing Drew doesn’t do is complain. If he’s in pain, he slinks off and uses a lollipop, but I can usually tell by his eyes, or the shade of his skin, which has lost its usually tawny glow and luster. His hair is growing in, but the chemo he takes for pain keeps it at that downy stage, like a newborn’s, and I love to rub my hand across it. It’s one thing that Drew loves, too, and in fact he asks me to do it a lot. He says it’s soothing.
He’s down to nothing, as far as weight, and he was right about the sweats. It’s what he lives in these days. He mentions it again today.
“Any chance you can buy me more of these? I hate to wear the same things over and over.”
“Oh, sure. They’re so soft, I’m sure they’re comfy.”
“Yeah. And I don’t have to worry about them falling off this bag of bones. I’m down to nothing, Cate, there’s no use in denying it.”
He’s right. I can’t. He’s nothing but a shadow of what he was six or seven months ago. I have his clothes pushed to the back of the closet so he isn’t confronted by them constantly, but I sneak back and look at them. It’s sad when I see how robust and strapping he used to be compared to what he is now.
“I won’t. But I’m also not going to tell you anything negative either, Drew. I’ll get you whatever you want. You know that.”
“Thank you.”
Later that week, he sits in his favorite chair, a large recliner, so I hop in with him and snuggle next to him. “How’s my guy today? Feel like doing anything? A movie?”
“Nah, I’m good right here.”
“Hungry?”
“Not really. Just wanna chill.”
“You got it.”
Minutes later he’s sleeping. It’s what he does mostly these days. I slip out of the chair and call Ben. I usually give him an update every couple of hours. And then it turns into a tearfest for the two of us. And poor Ben. He has to work with a career to maintain throughout all of this. I’m not sure how he’s keeping this shit from falling out of the briefcase—trying to sell stocks and investments while his best friend is dying. I’m so thankful I’m not working.
“You stopping by after work?”
“Cate, what the fuck do you think? I should just move in with you.”
“Hey, there’s plenty of room here.”
“Yeah, I know. But I have a place of my own.”
“Rent it out.”
“Um, yeah, but what about after …” He trails off and we both fall silent. It’s a powerful moment. “I didn’t mean …” he starts.
I blurt out, “You could stay with me for while. I may need you.”
“You won’t.”
“I won’t what?”
“Want to stay there.”
Oh shit. I never thought about it, but he’s right. There’s nothing that could make me stay here. This is … was … our place. This was supposed to be where we had kids.
“I guess not. Need a roommate?”
It’s another awkward moment. Then Ben fixes things.
“I’ll see you shortly. Need me to bring dinner?”
“Sure. Can you pick up Chinese? His favorite egg rolls and won ton soup?”
“You bet. What about you?”
“I’ll eat what he doesn’t.” His appetite has gone to nothing these days.
Ben says he’ll see me in about an hour.
Drew eats half an egg roll and half a cup of soup and I don’t eat much more. Ben tries to cheer up the house, but Drew falls asleep on us and it’s the two of us staring at each other, wet-eyed. The TV provides white noise as Ben and I stare ahead.
“What do you think life will be like without him?” I ask.
“Empty.”
“Kinda like right now?”
“Yeah.”
“He always tells me he loves all the pieces of me with all the pieces of him. Why did all the pieces of him have to get sick? Why couldn’t one piece of him get sick? A piece that he didn’t need?”
Ben scrubs his face. “I dunno, Cate. I wish I had an answer for you. But just for the record. I love all the pieces of him with all the pieces of me, too.”
It’s only a short fifteen days later when Drew wakes me up in the middle of the night. That’s not quite accurate because I’m not really sure when the last time I truly fell asleep—and I’m talking deep sleep—was. I hover in that place somewhere between sleep and awake. Things have declined rapidly in the last couple of days. My head spins when I think about it.
His voice rasps as he calls my name. “Cate?”
I’m out of the bed saying, “What is it?”
“I think it’s time. I want to go to the hospital.”