Her words hang in the air like moisture sodden clouds. The weight of them, push his shoulders down so hard he practically doubles over. The silence stretches out between them for what feels like an eternity. The air practically pulled from his lungs blows the few strands of her hair off her face.
"The chemo stopped working. The cancer has spread." Her already frail fingers brush over his, years of working construction causing calluses to form on them. "He gives me 3 months... at the most." Her voice strains with the pain of telling her husband she's going to die.
His head drops onto the bed beside his wife, his body shaking with rage at first. 'This shouldn't be happening. Not to her. She's the strong one. I can't do this without her.' This had become his mantra over the past year. A lump was found in her right breast at a routine physical last spring. "Stage 3" they said. "With chemo and treatment, 80% survival rate" they said. "We'll get you through this" they said. They said nothing about the cancer spreading. They said nothing about her body having a reaction to the chemo. NOTHING about her dying. NOTHING about her never seeing her future children graduate high school. NOTHING about her not seeing her grandchildren born. NOTHING about living to a ripe old age and retiring to a home with her husband of only 2 years. NOTHING! If he wasn't holding her hand, he'd probably punch something or someone.
6 months ago the chemo was working, the tumors had shrunk by 55% and now it's spread to the remaining healthy parts of her body. It's infection carried through her blood, coursing through her veins, bringing death to everything it touched. She was now one of the living dead.
Heavy tears fall down his cheeks, leaving wet trails against his sun worn skin. His baby blue eyes raise to meet her forest green ones. She looks so much older, so worn and beaten. There are dark circles threatening to suck the color from her irises. She's a good 20 pounds underweight and she stopped eating almost altogether, living off a feeding tube just so she doesn't starve before the cancer kills her. Almost ironic.
The gold chain with a small cross he had given to her for her birthday this year, clung to her pasty chest. Her skin was so clammy lately, nothing like the lotion soft, pink skin he was used to. He could almost see her heart fluttering against her skin. She couldn't leave him, not like this, not NOW. Images of their first date all the way until last year flashed through his mind like rapid fire, each one burning its imprint on his mind. He could never, WOULD never forget her. She was his soul mate. She was forever his as he was forever hers. She just wouldn't be on this earth as long as he.
Her eyes had fluttered closed and her breathing was now labored as she slept. The setting sun casting colors and shadows across her angel like features. Her hair spread around her head like a halo and it was then that he knew he would be ok without her. Not that he wouldn't mourn. Not that he wouldn't miss her. Not that he wouldn't feel as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Just in the end, he would be ok. He was better because of having her in his life, if only for a short period of time.
He gave a small smile as that feeling held him, as her love for him wrapped around like a blanket and held him tight. He sent up a small prayer as his fingers closed the blinds. He slipped off his shoes before crawling into bed with his wife. As he drifted off to sleep, his hand pressed against her heart and he was again comforted. 3 months... better than nothing.
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