“Yeah. Sounds good,” he consents quietly. Although he agrees with his words, I can see the uncertainty and concern in the pucker of his brow and in the dullness of his normally-sparkling emerald eyes. It makes me worry, and not for the first time, about how hard this is going to be for him.
We’ve loved each other forever, it seems, but a wondrous love like ours leaves both of us open to heartbreak like no other. Losing a loved one is never easy. I know that from experience. But losing your soulmate? I can’t even wrap my head around that.
Although I would never have wished such pain on Nate, I have to wonder if it’s happening this way because he can take it, and I couldn’t. I can take the sickness, but I’m not sure if I could handle losing my husband. My Nate. If the roles were reversed, I’m not sure I could be so strong. I have no idea how I’d carry the load during it all, much less carry on afterward.
Afterward.
As I let my lids drift shut, I’m careful to keep my lips curved into a smile, even though I don’t feel it. “Afterward” is almost as scary as the next few months. Afterward holds more questions, questions like what do I do now and how do I go on. Afterward holds more time, time to think and relive and remember. Afterward holds pain that will take months, maybe years to overcome.
Afterward will be pure hell.
I quell my chaotic, troublesome thoughts as Nate climbs over my legs to stretch out behind me in bed. With a gentleness that he might use to handle a robin’s egg or a delicate flower, Nate pulls me into the curve of his body, wrapping himself around me like a shield. I know he wants to protect me from this—sickness, fear, despair, death—but he can’t, and I know that’s hard for him. So hard!
Nate has always been my hero, rushing to the rescue at the first sign of distress. His broad, broad shoulders have always been able to carry the heaviest of loads, but lately I’ve seen them sag when he thinks I’m not looking. My sickness is making my Nate sick. My illness is something he can’t fight and he can’t fix, and I see how that helplessness is making him suffer. I see it when his dazzling smile falters, and I see it when his sparkling eyes dim.
My husband can’t take my hurt away, and it’s eating him up on the inside. A disease of a different kind.
But no matter how deeply he’s suffering, he always takes care of me.
Just like he is now.
Because he’s still my hero. And he always will be.
“Sleep, baby. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.” He kisses my temple tenderly.
I know he injected as much conviction as he could into his words, but I know him too well. He’s probably already picturing the beginning of the end. And beyond.
Just like I am.
********
Nate
I’ve never been a particularly spiritual person. I guess I’m more ambivalent about it than anything else. Lena, on the other hand, has had some deep-seated bitterness that she’s never worked through, not since her father died all those years ago. That’s why I’m surprised when she wakes up just before noon, sits straight up in the bed, and looks back at me with laughter shining in those beautiful light brown eyes of hers.
“I might have to start believing in miracles,” she declares with a smile.
“And why is that?”
“I feel better. Like completely better. Thank you, God,” she mutters before rolling over to give me a smacking kiss then announcing that she’s headed to the shower.
“In case you want to join me,” she adds, throwing a wink over her shoulder and wiggling that curvy little ass at me.
Of course, I would never turn down an invitation like that. Definitely not now, now when I need to have her close to me, when I need to be close to her more than ever.
But I also know better than to follow her right in. She’ll need a minute of private time first. Lena’s shy when it comes to things like that. And I’ve always respected her need for space.
As the seconds tick by, I listen to her hum, wondering over her elevated mood. As she slept, I counted her every deep, even breath and tried to imagine my life without her. I’ve never, not once, not even after being given the news about her terminal condition, been able to picture what my existence would be like without her in it. Most of the time, I don’t even want to try. She is the love of my life. She always has been, and I have no doubt that she always will be.
Till death do us part.
Death might part our bodies, but it will never part our hearts, our souls. Our love. Love like ours doesn’t die. It will live long after Lena leaves me. I’ll never be free of it.