The Empty Jar(52)

Galloping away.





Nineteen

The Hardest Part is the Night

Nate



Over the course of the following weeks, Lena’s health begins to slowly decline. It’s as though the dark cloud that has been hovering silently in the distance sweeps in and bursts, pouring rain of reality and finality over her. Over me.

Over us.

It started on the morning following the placenta previa diagnosis and has run steadily downhill each day since. Lena fights it, of course. She still refuses to give up on our baby, but her vigor lessens with every week that slips by.

She battles depression. It seems almost like poisonous black strings have attached themselves to her heart. I can almost see them coiling and wrapping and knotting, pulling tighter and tighter every day, dragging her down, down, down.

Nissa has been trying to help with that. She comes over once a day to either read to Lena or watch a movie with her, usually something from their youth, something they sing and laugh to like Grease or Flash Gordon, which I find particularly amusing.

She combats confusion as well. She told me once a few days ago that it feels as though she’s awakening from a dream, awakening to a life she doesn’t recognize. Sometimes she’s as confused about when she is as she is about where she is.

I first noticed that in relation to Nissa. She was at the house the other day. She’d been reading to Lena when Lena interrupted her.

“How are things with you and Mark? I’m sorry I haven’t asked in so long.”

Nissa reached across the couch to lay her hand on Lena’s. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot on your plate or anything.” I saw the wink she shot my wife, and my wife’s answering smile, sad though it was.

“Well? How are things?”

“Not great. No better, no worse, I guess. I just wonder sometimes how long we can go on this way. I mean, we might as well just be roommates. And babysitters. Well, that’s mostly just me.”

“I’m so sorry, babe.”

Nissa shrugged. “It’ll come to a head one of these days. I’m not too eager to push it until the kids are a little older. I have no idea what I’d do if he left me right now.”

Lena nodded, her expression rife with sympathy, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Slowly, Lena’s eyes began to get heavy, and she dozed off. Nissa watched her from the couch. I watched her from the island in the kitchen. I wondered if she hurt as much as I did to see my beautiful, vivacious Lena this way. Because it was damn sure breaking my heart.

She only napped for about ten minutes. When she woke, she smiled over at Nissa as if she hadn’t been asleep and asked, “So, how are things with you and Mark?”

To Nissa’s credit, she handled it well. Didn’t miss a beat with her response. “He’s an *, but I’m not surprised. He’s always been an *.”

The two laughed, but I died a little inside.

For a few days, Lena wouldn’t talk about it. Tried to hide her slips. But I could see it. Even without the overt example of that conversation with Nissa, I could see it. I’m as aware of every subtle nuance of my wife as I am of my own body.

I know how she struggles, just as I know her reasons for not wanting to talk about it, to acknowledge it. She’s trying to protect me. And I’m trying to protect her.

That doesn’t change the facts, though.

The facts are that Lena’s disease is progressing. And there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. For me, that means that I’m destined to watch the love of my life slip away from me in the most excruciating way imaginable—little by little, day by day, and with no recourse whatsoever.

I keep a watchful eye on Lena at all times. Periods when I feel like she isn’t really with me are getting more and more frequent. Nights seem to be the worst. For that reason, I never let myself fall into a very deep sleep. My fear is that she will get up in the dark and I won’t hear her. And I’m afraid that if she does, something bad will happen. She’ll hurt herself or need my help. I’m terrified that I won’t be there for her, so I sleep with one eye open at all times.

Tonight, Lena fell asleep on the sofa. She skipped supper altogether, which isn’t like her. Even so, I was hesitant to wake her. I’m okay with letting it go this one time, but if it becomes a habit, I’ll have to consult the doctors. Lena has to eat. For her, for the baby, she has to. I hope this won’t be a trend, but I know if it is, I’ll have no choice but to involve the doctor.

I want Lena to do well on her own for as long as she can. I know that’s what she wants, too. What she needs. Besides that, I’ve read enough about terminal cases such as Lena’s to know there is a point of no return when it comes to their ability to sustain their own life. Having to be fed through a tube is one of those points, and I’m in no hurry for my wife to arrive there.

I carried her to bed and tucked her in around eleven, and I’ve been drifting between wakefulness and sleep ever since. The moment Lena’s weight shifts off the bed, I’m wide awake.

I bolt upright.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Fine, fine,” she answers, her voice sounding clear and lucid. “Just going in here to get some orders.”

Orders?

I slide out of bed to follow her. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness, so I have no trouble seeing her as she makes her way down the hall. I also have no trouble seeing her when she stops, glances down at her arms, licks her finger, and begins flipping through papers that aren’t really there. I watch her as she closely studies something, running her finger down the imaginary page. I wonder what she’s seeing. And why. Obviously it’s work-related, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s been a nurse practitioner for most of her adult life. She’s as comfortable in her white lab coat as she is in her pajamas.