“You say that…” His voice cracks. “You say stuff like that constantly, like you’re ready to be gone.”
The air in the room thickens around me, damn near suffocating. I want to look away so he won’t see the truth in my eyes, but I don’t. I just watch his glistening eyes in hopes that he’ll finally understand.
But, of course, he doesn’t. He never will.
“Why?” He snatches his hand away from me. “I don’t understand why you won’t fight anymore. There’s a chance you can still beat this thing, Shannon.”
“A very slim chance, John.”
“Slim or not, it’s a chance.” He scoots his chair forward, grabbing my hand again and squeezing it. “You know what I believe?”
“What?” I whisper, my voice now thick with unshed tears.
“I believe you came into my life for a reason. You weren’t meant to come into it and then leave after only a couple years. That can’t be right. God wouldn’t punish me like this, not after all I’ve been through. He knows I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
“He sacrificed his own son, John. What makes you think we’re any special?”
He gives me a serious look, sitting back and releasing my hand. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just saying maybe this is happening to you because he knows you can handle it…”
“No. I truly don’t think I can.”
“That’s because you haven’t experienced it before…not with someone you’re in love with.”
“Exactly,” he says hurriedly, sitting forward again with desperate blue eyes. “You’re my wife. We just got married—we’re still considered newlyweds. Why take that away from me? Why make me suffer after suffering for so many years before? My parents were enough of a loss. Shannon, baby, if you keep fighting, anything can happen. Any kind of chance shouldn’t be taken for granted.”
His eyes are hopeful and it kills me. I can’t bear knowing that he won’t be able to let go. What’s going to happen to him when I do pass? Will he give up? Will he spiral into depression? Will he ever love again or will he end up an old, bitter man who doesn’t believe in the word love or God anymore?
“I’m not meant to be here, Johnny.” My voice is barely a whisper. I can barely hear it myself over the machines, but I know what I said.
And, clearly, he heard it as well because he sighs, shutting his eyes for a very brief moment and then popping them open again. A slow tear skids down his cheek.
Sitting back, my husband drags a palm down his face and then blows out a breath, dropping his hands in his lap. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not giving up on you.”
“I know,” I murmur. And I do. I know he won’t until he has no choice but to.
He stares at me, long and hard. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to push me away, but I won’t let it happen. I’m here to stay, and if you believe you’re not meant to be here then I will sit right beside this bed every single day and night until you reach your last—” His sentence ends abruptly. Look at him. He can’t even say it. “Your…last breath.”
His hesitation is understandable. He’s trying to accept what the future may hold, but also preserve a little hope. John, he’s a firm believer in God. I like that about him because it’s kept him humble and in the right state of mind.
This is why I know I will be gone soon. Because although he thinks he can’t handle my loss, I know that he can. He will move on eventually. Become stronger. Wiser. Better. He will accept it and move forward with his life, maybe not during the first few months, but he will.
He’ll find ways to cope and he’ll love harder. He’s stronger than he thinks. They say God never puts us through anything we can’t handle. That, I believe.
I will admit that I lost some of my faith a long time ago, especially when my disease attacked right after me and John’s honeymoon.
When I was first diagnosed, it went away a month later. Almost like there were never any black spots on my lungs. It was like I was perfectly healthy. But then the Onyx Pleura came back with a vengeance. I was coughing hard in my living room that night, so hard I had to be rushed to the hospital.
The third and final time was way worse. I coughed during the middle of the night and John had to take me to the ER. The good I got out of it was John’s loyalty. His faith and positive attitude during it all. It progressed to a worse stage after only ten months, but he still held onto hope.
Now I look at my husband and the hope that was bright in his eyes when this all first started has dulled. It’s still there, but with each day, I watch the hope fade more and more.