He shoves out of his chair, pacing back and forth and muttering under his breath. Pressing my back to the bed, I shut my eyes and fight the tears. I fail miserably.
“I just…I mean, I don’t know what to do here, Shannon,” he sighs.
“Just forget it,” I mutter, swiping hard at my eyes. “Let’s just pretend I never brought it up, okay? I don’t want to argue. Not right now. Not with you.” John stops pacing to look at me. His eyes immediately filling with regret.
I put my head down, whispering for him to turn the lights off. I no longer want to be looked at. Plus, it’s getting late. The sun is just setting but my blinds are closed. It’s dark enough for me to get some rest.
“Babe, come on,” he pleads.
“The lights please, John.” My voice is firm. I avoid his eyes.
He hesitates, but with a heavy, reluctant sigh, he walks away, flipping the light switch on the wall to shut the lights off. My body relaxes as the comforting darkness fills the room. I can see John standing in his white T-shirt. I can also see his eyes, and everything else, but at least it’s not every single detail of his face, like that small dip I know is between his eyebrows as he pouts.
John blows out a breath as I turn on my side and pull the blanket over me. The machine beeps a little faster before settling to a steady rhythm again. Several minutes pass before I feel John’s hand on the small of my back, rubbing in slow circles.
“Shannon,” he whispers, his voice faint and remorseful.
I don’t respond. The tears stream, dampening the pillow my head rests on.
“Baby, please tell me what to do here. Please tell me what you want that makes sense.” His voice cracks, deepening the pain I feel in my chest.
“I already told you what I want.”
“Something realistic.”
I swipe at my eyes with the little energy I have and then sit up to look at him. “Fine. You want realistic? I’ll be real with you right now.” He sits back, eyes wide as they lock on mine. “I don’t want to die in this place, Jonathan. I don’t want to spend my final days on this rock hard bed, staring up at the white ceiling or at the mirror across from me, contemplating my life and all I should have done differently. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to be on three fucking IV drips of OPX a week. I don’t want to keep doing this to myself—to us—going through the same routine every single day. I want to spend the final days of my life doing things that I love and being where I deserve. I don’t deserve to be on this bed with this fucking tube in my nose and needles in my arms. I don’t deserve not to be able to stand and kiss you. To cuddle with my husband in our fucking bed.”
He closes his eyes, tears falling, and I stroke his cheek, using the pad of my thumb to swipe some of his tears away. I hate seeing him cry. “I don’t deserve to be here. Don’t you see that?” I whisper. “Whenever it’s meant for me to be gone, I’ll be gone. But I hate that I have to be restrained—trapped in this cold, depressing hospital—all because you think it’s best for me. Maybe, for once, I want what I think is best for me. Maybe you should take that into consideration. I am your wife, John. Your wife. For once, can you please just support my decisions during all of this? Listen to me about my needs. I’m calling out to you and it’s like you’re not even listening.”
His mouth parts and I can tell he wants to say so much, but is unsure of how to go about it. Instead of speaking, he stands up and sits on the edge of the bed, holding me but not too tightly.
I miss his tight hugs. His warm embrace. I miss the carefree John. The one who didn’t worry so much about my health and what I could handle. I miss us, and it’s sad to see it all going down the drain because of a stupid disease that refuses to go away.
We know we deserve more, but how do we get it when our destiny has already been written?
“I hear you, baby,” he whispers in my hair. “I hear you and I understand.” He tips my chin, kissing my lips gently. Oh, how I’ve missed his touch, his mouth on mine, greedy and soft. I lean into his hold, wrapping my arms around him and sighing as the kiss deepens. My tongue begins to part his lips, but he stops me, head shaking.