The Words We Leave Unspoken(8)
Before my mind even settles on Gwen, she whispers quietly into the silent darkness, “I’m going to die.”
I’m going to die. Her words echo through my mind before I have the sense to absorb them. I sit up abruptly without letting go of her hand. “What?” I ask, now feeling frantic, desperate for answers, an explanation.
Gwen swipes at her eyes, one at a time. “I saw my oncologist today. The cancer is back. I felt another lump in my armpit and so I had a bunch of tests done. I got my results today and it’s not good. He said that it spread and I don’t have much time left. I’m going to die. And it’s like I can feel it. Like this is it.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, she’s so calm. But her words punch me right in the gut, hurt me so deep inside that I feel like I might throw up.
“I’m scared, Charley. I’m scared to tell John. I’m scared for the kids. I’m scared of feeling sick, of what it will feel like in the end. I’ve never been so scared in my life and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know...” Her voice trails off as she sobs so hard that her body shakes. I don’t know what to say. I lie down next to her and wrap my arms around her and squeeze. I feel her relax into me and roll to her side. And I hold her as we both cry, the way she has done for me so many times before. Like the day that Dad left, or the day Jennifer Holt – my best friend in third grade – moved away, and especially after my first real broken heart. She was there, holding me just like this and I remember feeling as if she was holding every broken piece of myself together, afraid that if she let go I would crumble into a million pieces. I hold her like this now until I feel her heartbeat slow and her breathing even out. When I’m sure that she’s asleep, I roll away from her knowing that sleep will not come to me tonight. I can’t stop the thoughts that circle in the deep crevices of my mind, the thoughts that scream, It should be me. Gwen is full of too much life, too much love and has too many people that depend on her, love her. She can’t die. It should be me. Why isn’t it me? And my heart ruptures, breaks completely wide open at the thought of my life without Gwen, at the image of the two little faces that will have to experience the world without their mother.
The pitter-patter of rain on the roof echoes in the quiet room, and I match my breath to its beat to distract my mind from what lies ahead, to ebb the unbearable pain that has taken root inside me.
I am up early, cracking eggs into a bowl, plopping bread in the toaster. I couldn’t sleep, instead my mind drifted away from the desperation and settled into a better place. I’m on a mission. I refuse to give in, to let Gwen give up so easily. I will help her through this; I will be strong for her. There has to be another way, some other option. And so my mind is as busy as my body in the early morning hours as I make Gwen breakfast and contemplate what I am going to say to her.
As if on cue, Gwen pads softly into the small galley kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Since when do you get up this early?” she asks, her words drawn out as she yawns and stretches her arms above her head.
“Sit,” I tell her as I pull a bar stool out from the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. I plop a plate down on the counter in front of her and pour her a cup of coffee. And then I lean over the counter, resting my elbows on the cool granite and launch into my spiel that I rehearsed in my head all night.
“Tell me exactly what the doctor said. We need to figure out your options, get a second opinion. We’ll fly to Switzerland if we have to, Gwen. You’re not going to die. I won’t let that happen.”
Her shoulders sink as she sighs. “Charley, I appreciate your fight, I do. But Dr. Rand doesn’t feel like treatment will be effective and I shouldn’t spend the time I have left sick and hospitalized. I should spend it with Olivia and Max and John. And you. I don’t know if I have it in me to fight this. The first time around was so hard on John. I just don’t know if it’s worth it. I don’t know what the kids would do while I went through treatments and surgeries. They were too young to know what was going on last time. This time it would be different. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” She wraps her hands around her coffee mug, bringing it hesitantly to her lips before taking a sip. Her eyes are glazed over, filled to the brim with unshed tears.
I slam my fist down on the counter, startling her. “The Gwen I know wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give up without a fight. Listen to yourself, Gwen. ‘I don’t know what the kids will do while I’m getting treatments,’” I imitate her voice, adding a little whine for effect. “Well what are they going to do when you’re dead, Gwen? What will John and Olivia and Max do when you’re gone? How about then?” She jumps at my words, too harsh coming from my mouth. I don’t stop there.
“We need a second opinion. I never liked that doctor. What kind of respectable man wears a plaid bow tie anyway? There has to be more options. I refuse to accept this, and so should you.” I feel anger move through me, filling the spaces that were filled with sadness just hours ago. I’m angry at Gwen, angry at her Pee-wee Herman of an oncologist for stripping her of hope, but I’m mostly angry at God.
Gwen sets her coffee cup down on the counter and folds her arms across her chest. “Charley. I...”
“Don’t say it, Gwen,” I insist, holding my hand up to stop her from speaking. “Don’t tell me to listen to you. I won’t.”