2 MIN
Today was brutal.
After months
of doctor’s appointments
trying to understand
your back pain
the doctor finally had an answer.
It wasn’t overdoing it
on the tennis court.
It wasn’t hemorrhoids.
It was cancer.
Stage IV lung cancer.
How could this possibly be real?
You were just 49 years old.
Otherwise healthy.
Never smoked.
Thin.
Active.
No other health issues.
And if lung cancer wasn’t enough
the monster had already
invaded your bones.
We sat
in our dark blue SUV
parked in front of our house
at the top of the hill.
For hours.
Silent.
Earlier that day
the call came.
You picked me up from work
and we drove around
not knowing what else to do.
We tried
to do normal things.
Groceries.
Gas.
We left the market
with a partially filled cart.
A package of spaghetti.
Bell peppers.
Rice Chex.
Milk.
Abandoned
in the cart
with the squeaky wheels.
We pulled into the gas station
and forgot
how to pump gas.
We sat there
staring at the pump
like we had been dropped
into another world.
All we could do
was go home.
But we couldn’t
go inside the house.
So we sat.
The sun
long set.
At the top
of the hill.
Our minds
erased
of words.
Images
snapped through my mind
like a photographer
on a shoot.
I saw the illness progress.
I saw you grow weaker
and die.
I saw myself
alone.
Who would I become?
You in the driver’s seat.
Me in the passenger.
We stayed
face forward
watching the flickering lights
on the bridge
in the distance.
The view was beautiful.
Offering no indication
that death
would replace it.
For a moment
I imagined
if we could just stay there
in the SUV
watching the lights
we could stop time.
Then you wouldn’t have to go through
radiation,
chemotherapy,
surgery,
weakness,
and death.
That night
sitting in the SUV
at the top of the hill
I thought
it was the worst night
of my life.
Now
I look back
and see it
as a moment
that belonged
only to you and me.
The before.
Before
you declined
Before
you went through pain
with such bravery
Before
you told me
not to dwell on the future
when I still had you
right here with me
Before
you died
Before
I lived without you
When I close my eyes
you and I
are sitting
in the SUV
at the top of the hill.
That worst day
is now
the best day
in my mind.
Because
you are still here.
Carol Ornstein is a lover of life and seeks to see the unseen through words, photography, and nature. She can be found helping the underdog and writing poetry about everything and nothing.