3
Damon
Before Carol passed, we would cook meals together, experiencing that mutual love. On holidays, our home transformed into a restaurant with our families blended together to enjoy our cuisine cooked to perfection. That was, until she became sick.
We discovered each other early in life, the first day of junior high, to be specific. Carol was standing up for another student, against a big eighth-grade boy. He was enormous and didn’t have any apprehensions about attacking a girl. I walked in between them and tried to talk him into going away. He swung at Carol, and I laid him out.
At first, she was furious with me, preferring to deal with it herself. She eventually warmed up to me, after not looking my way for a couple of weeks.
We became best friends until high school. That’s when she came forward about her affections for me, and we’d been together ever since. Most people warned us we were foolish when we became engaged and married at nineteen, but nothing came between us. Sure, we had our fair share of setbacks, but doesn’t every marriage? She was still my best friend and soulmate.
As the years rushed by, we acquired a home and remodeled it. That was her thing—cooking and decorating. We chatted about having children but delayed until we were a little older. There was no rush.
“I love you. I’ll see you after work.” She kissed me goodbye, as she always did.
I went to work, arrived home, doing my normal daily routine. When she arrived through the front door, I could see something was off. Her face was blotchy, like she had been sobbing.
She sank down next to me. “I had my checkup today... They discovered something.”
“What? Just tell me. You’re terrifying me,” I replied, my eyes big with worry.
She settled her palm on top of mine. “I have breast cancer...”
I moved her close and let her sob into me, causing my shirt to become damp. How could this happen to her? The woman I love? My knuckles turned white, and I looked up to the ceiling, questioning everything. Why would he take away someone so young, someone who has believed in him her whole life? Carol had a full life ahead of her, kids and grandbabies. They diagnosed people every year, but no one ever thinks it would happen to someone they care for.
After the diagnosis, I remained by her side and took some time off work to take her to consultations to figure out treatment strategies. The news wasn’t what we desired.
“After studying the scans, it shows we did not reveal it in the earlier stages. As you can see, it’s spreading and quick.” The physician waited a minute for us to process the information. “She will need to start chemo next week.”
My knees hit the floor, palms together, urging for God to pardon her.
This lingered on for months, and we hoped it was working. Within six months of the diagnosis, she was hospital-bound.
The day the specialist came in, and without a word, we both knew what he was going to report. They tell you in therapy to prepare yourself, at least mine did, for Carol’s possible passing when we first found about about her cancer, but how does one really prepare for their spouse’s death emotionally?
“Just give it to me straight. No sugarcoating,” Carol said.
“You have limited time left. We would prefer to send you to hospice where you can be more comfortable.”
That was the day when I had to brace myself for when I wouldn’t have her in my world anymore. My wife was going to die, and there was nothing I could do to save her.
On her last day, she was exceedingly frail, but surrounded by family. All I could do was be there for her in the last hours and let her see I truly adored her. More than she would ever realize.
Once everyone left, I seized her palm and wept. Her breathing was becoming shallow. “When I’m gone, don’t turn into a recluse. You deserve to live a long, happy life. Even if it’s not with me by your side.”
Tears dribbled from my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You’re my entire world.”
“Don’t shut out love. One day you’ll find someone who can love you, even after I’m gone. Don’t run, embrace it. I want you to.”
“No one will take your place. Ever.”
This was not the conversation I preferred to have with my dying partner. How could she even be thinking about me with someone else right now?
That night around midnight, Carol’s lungs took their last breath with me by her side, her hand intertwined with mine. My forehead rested on her bed, asking for God to bring her back, just let me have one more day, but he had bigger plans for my Carol.
I lingered in my room for weeks after her death, not bothering to venture outside even to check the mail or get groceries. My life headed down a suicidal path, where I sank into a deep depression, not showering or getting out of the bed most days. My brothers would come over and check on me, try to get me to at least come out, but I never did.
After two months, I went back to work even though I wasn’t ready. The silence in our home was forcing my depression to worsen, and all it achieved was causing me to miss her even more.