My husband, David, was finally off from a long shift at the restaurant he runs. He was weary, and, so was I, for him and for us. The house was empty and we both collapsed on the bed in the early evening--I could tell he needed to share more than the casual conversation about work. My pain in my feet was escalating, my body ached and I needed to hear comforting words. Tears often flowing for no other reason than I was tired of where I was at in life.
"Do you remember Don and Tracy, customers of mine that spent 3 hours with me while you were in surgery at Moffitt?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "Well Tracy called me today and Don's cancer has spread to his liver and kidneys; he is in Hospice now." A river of tears flowed from my husband's eyes. He cried for Don, his five children ages 15 to 10, that would soon be fatherless and Tracy's courage to stay strong for Don. "Do you know, Gina, that I knew Don for seven years and we never once talked about work; it was always about family, religion and sports," he tells me through swollen eyes. Tracy called me to say how much I lifted Don's spirits that day. And, after your surgery, they called me because they wanted to give you a gift and card. All I could think of was that this was the last day I would be with Don."
We cried together for Don, a man I only knew from the stories David told me about. Somehow, this couple reminded David of us. "Don is the friend I would have grown up with in Boston, handsome--a big physically fit Italian guy from New York, you know," he said. Yes, I knew, my family is Italian on both sides, it was easy to envision the type of friend David saw in Don. But Don's deterioration seemed to represent something else for David, too. And, then, the truth about my condition for the last several years followed. "Gina, I can't lose you. I've seen something in your eyes like you are giving up, not fighting anymore. Please you cannot give up, I need you," he cried.
"I'm not giving up," I tell him compassionately. "I'm weary and teary; I'm tired of the pain I live with daily; the constant ache in my body; the wheelchair that has destroyed my pathways into the kitchen and dining room--my own prison now; the not knowing what happens when the external fixator comes off the right foot; will therapy get me walking again? Need I go on," I cry. David tells me that he doesn't mind the details of what we have gone through together and that I won't die from what I have been through. But Don will die, most likely soon.
My husband let go last night, and held Don close to his heart and memory. We prayed for Don and his family and let God do the rest for all of us.
Dearest Gina,
ReplyDeleteI had to wait a day before sharing my comments because your post moved me so much.
First, you have my prayers for your medical, healing and need-to-walk challenges. I cannot imagine how such a journey would change ones life. I can only continue to ask God to bring you and your loved ones through this quickly, gaining knowledge, maintaining love and patience, learning something new about life and things I am sure we all take for granted, and especially for ultimate healing.
As far as your husband and men in general, it broke my heart. Men have many emotions too. How quickly we forget that they are people too. Fortunatly for us, we vocalize our feelings to anyone who will listen. Or, we seek outlets to relieve the inner turmoil. Men however push down, keep in, put a brave face on, are caretakers...etc. And yet, they do hurt. They do get scared. They do feel defeated. It is wonderful that you were both able to seek solice in each others arms. Moreover, that you have the relationship to share openly while maintaining your core persons. Kudos.
With your friend Don and his family...I HATE cancer. And I do not use the word HATE very often. It is a satanic disease in all its forms. It robs people of their physical dignity, and steals good people from needy families.
My friend Tressa lost her husband this time last year to a long, drawn out bout of cancer. She cared for him until the end. She was left with no insurance money and the responsibility to raise Avah, their four-year old daughter.
Six months after Rodney passed away, Tressa was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. Within three weeks she was diagnosed and had a radical mastectomy. We, her friends, alternate going with her to her chemo appointments--they make her so sick, visiting, cooking, caring for Avah and taking her to church.
I guess the best we can do is help our brothers and sisters who are ravaged with this disease in any way we can. We can also contribute monitarily and talk about cures with legitimate associations. Most important, we need to pray DAILY that cure(s) are on the immediate horizon.
Gina, I encourage you to continue to blog, surround yourself with loving and supportive people and push yourself emotionally and physically. I know God will bring you through this; He promises that!