Every three months, that shot wrecks her
Praying food stays down an hour longer
Hair falls out, sleepless nights in tears
My Beloved, tired of fighting, please stay near
I don’t talk to gods anymore, haven’t in years
but for you, I will fall on the floor and beg
For our sunrises to shine upon your smile
We chose a road less traveled as long as…
We walk it together, you and I…
We walk it together, please stay near
I’ll carry you when the path isn’t clear
We have dreams of children to rear
There’s a bright horizon out there
Past the reach of cancer and fear
Where you and I walk, hand in hand
Up snowy mountain hills and trails
Northern Lights to guide us home
My arms around you to keep warm
Even when we’re old and gray
Even when we’re ghosts
We have a future that’s bright
We see it past these dark clouds
We’ll walk it together, you and I
All I need, this love, you and I
(Tonight’s album choices: Carole King’s Tapestry and James Taylor’s Live at the Troubadour)
Truth is, I don’t know what to do here anymore. Life has a funny way of changing your priorities when you’re a daydreamer hit with the sudden realization that you don’t have long left to leave an impact. And then life keeps on hitting you, relentless and unyielding. We had a string of hospitalizations since last November. We had a relatively healthy summer, but never a honeymoon. We have a strong love, but weak bodies. And now, she’s back on a chemo drug to fight the embers left behind from the cancer that took away her ability to naturally birth a child.
She’s found a career she loves, one that has her trampling the patriarchy by turning a wrench. We have embryos, sitting in a rented freezer for six hundred a month. We dream of a way to bring them into this world, afford the expense. Not her fault, but she blames herself. I do the same. It’s what you do when you love someone. I would give everything I have just to make her happy. I have her, and that’s made me richer than I could ever imagine…
So, in the meantime, I’ll look for another career path. I gave teaching my all, but I had nothing else to sacrifice for at the time. After a dozen years, I’ve cried over my classroom for the last time. A wife that’s brave enough to face cancer and a Master Mechanic apprenticeship, so I have to be brave too… she deserves nothing less. I don’t mind working, but I have more than myself now to work for. “Grief is love, unrelenting.” We grieve the easier paths others take, and wish them the best.
We spend our weekdays grinding through a minimum wage. She sleeps Saturdays, trying to keep down rice and crackers. I rub her back, wishing I could take the pain for her. I dream of houses we could fill with food and laughter, garages full of old cars we rebuild. I hope I can give it to her, so I write stories since that’s the only way I know to process this grief I feel building. So many wasted moments, so many missteps, we could have found each other long ago. I hope she reads them one day. I hope she knows I wrote them all in the longshot, lightning strike, lottery odds chance that my stories might pay for our dreams, our children… all these tears.
It’s not fair. Everyone says that. I’ll cry in silence, let her sleep. She needs my strength and my love. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, even when we’re ghosts; I have no regrets. I just know, because of her, I’ll never stop fighting. Because life by her side, even when we’re both broken and dreading the morning alarm, is far better than anything I could have dreamed.
Rich in spirit, rich in love, rich in bank account balances. We get two out of three if we’re lucky. So I’ll keep writing these stories, and hopefully one day this site will be where people read the updates and see the sacrifices we made, and understand how powerful our love was to see us through all those sad days and dreams that seem so far away.
