Epilogue
Eighteen Months Later …
Amelia
“Do you miss him?”Astrid asks from our lounge chairs on the balcony while we drink our fresh-pressed juice. The first time I saw our eye-popping view of lush rainforests, majestic mountains, and epic waterfalls, I knew we would never leave, no matter Price’s fate.
“Of course, honey. But life goes on. We’ll keep his memories alive.”
It’s been a life-changing eighteen months atop this high knoll in the middle of a 1,000-acre nature reserve in Costa Rica’s Osa region. We have a breathtaking view of three valleys and Mount Chirripó. And because of its high elevation, there are no mosquitos. Nearly everything we eat is picked on the same day.
No TV.
No internet.
We had a private chef when we first arrived since I wasn’t prepared to care for Price and Astrid physically and emotionally during the transition. Those were the worst days of my life as a wife and a mother. I’d never felt so helpless. And I still wonder if seeing Price’s suffering has left a permanent mark on our daughter.
I hope not.
Astrid has friends in town whom she sees weekly. She’s been unschooled, reading a book a day, learning about life by living it, and I believe she’s thriving. It’s what Price imagined for her.
“I think he’s in Heaven. Or maybe he’s already been reincarnated. Do you believe in reincarnation?”
I chuckle. “I don’t know what to believe.” I tip my head back and close my eyes. I blame Price. His diagnosis changed me on every level. It shook me to my core. It made me question my faith, my blind trust in modern medicine, my need for control, and it challenged my biggest fear—death and losing the love of my life.
Price taught me to let go of that fear. He said, “There’s nothing easier than not existing.”
I no longer live with regret; it doesn’t serve me. But I struggled with my decisions for a long time. Why couldn’t I see what he needed after his first diagnosis?
I wanted him to compromise; he just wanted to live.
Why did my love turn into fear?
Why didn’t I trust his intuition to do what was best for him?
When he returned from Austin, why didn’t I embrace a new life with him instead of mourning and longing for the old one?
Price was right; I was killing him under the guise of love.
It was fear. A soul-crushing fear of losing control, of losing him. I made it about me and how I felt as his wife and the mother of our child.
The day I told Price it was okay to die, okay to let go, was the day I, too, let go of my mistakes and the regret they carried. I had to be whole inside for Astrid.
“It was a great hike, but my lazy girls refused to get out of bed.”
I smile, hearing his strong voice, yearning for the kiss I know he’s about to press to the top of my head.
The day I told Price it was okay to die was also the day everything changed. It was the day his body and mind decided it was time to live. I think he was waiting for me to let go.
Price’s favorite quote is from Lao Tzu: “The Master does nothing; yet he leaves nothing undone.”
When he kisses the top of my head, my skin tingles. Then he steps closer to the balcony”s edge, drinking a glass of water and gazing at our view of Heaven.
“We should take Astrid to town today to distract her from Samuel. She’s missing him,” I say.
Price glances over his bare shoulder. His shorts are low on his waist, and his skin is a delicious bronze. “He’s not dead.”
Astrid sits up, folding her legs beneath her. “You don’t know that.”
“He’s camouflaged and high up in the trees.”
“Dad, I saw him every day for a week. And now he’s just gone. I bet it was a jaguar.” Astrid easily gets worked up over animals, and Samuel was (is) her unofficial pet sloth.
“He’s in the trees. He came down to mate; that’s why you saw him, but now he’s in the canopy again.” Price is good at arguing with her. He calls it “challenging” her.
“Daaaad, they mate in the trees.”
Price eyes me as if I’m the one who will confirm if she’s correct. I shrug. We know Astrid is smarter than us, especially about wildlife.
“Just say he’s dead, and you’re happy he’s in Heaven,” Astrid says, tipping up her defiant little chin.
Price rubs his lips together, no doubt trying to hide his grin. “You’re right. It probably was a jaguar.”
Astrid stands. “Was that so hard?” She pivots with an extra dose of attitude and heads down the stairs.
Price chuckles, reclining in her empty chair. “We’ve got a spicy one.”
I sip my juice before nodding. “That’s what we get for teaching her to question everything. Now she’s a know-it-all with an extra side of sass.”
Again, he chuckles. It’s a beautiful sound.
We have a beautiful life.
I don’t know how long it will last. We live a day at a time, grateful for each miraculous moment. My heart still knows I could lose him—the odds may never be in his favor. We sometimes share a knowing glance like we’re getting away with something, and it’s only a matter of time before this blissful bubble pops.
“It’s a good day to go to town. I think we should use that picture of us by the waterfall for postcards,” he suggests as if it’s not a big deal.
I don’t cry, but I want to. It’s a huge deal.
We have not contacted family or friends for eighteen months. When we departed, they knew it could be a long time before they’d hear from us, and they knew it could be the last time they saw Price. So I’ve left it up to him whether or when we contact family.
This is no longer our escape; it’s our life. And he’s ready to share it.
“Thank you for loving me this much,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.
Our fingers interlace.
’Til death do us part, my love.
Scottie
The weeds win.They always win.
I should surrender to the weeds. Perhaps they have a greater purpose.
“Nope. I won’t surrender to you. You’re no good,” I mumble to myself, yanking another little bastard from the soil of my raised-bed garden while Penelope’s wavy brown hair blows in the wind as Koen pushes her on the tree swing.
It doesn’t last long. Miss Busybody wants out to play in the dirt.
Minutes later, rocks crunch beneath Koen’s boots as he approaches me with mail in one hand and three-month-old Cedar Henry Sikes cradled in his other arm. “Promise not to cry?” he asks. “If you cry, Penn will cry. And Henry will cry because you two are scary when you cry. So …”
I sit back on my heels, pulling off my gardening gloves and wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Are we being audited?”
“Worse than that. We need to rename our son. It was all for nothing.” He smirks, handing me the stack of mail.
“What are you talking about?” I thumb through the pile of junk, stopping on a postcard.
“No. I said no crying,” Koen says.
I shake my head a half-dozen times, trying to control my emotions, but I can’t.
“Here come the waterworks.” Koen chuckles, squatting next to me.
I hug him, forcing him to balance with Henry in his other hand. Resting my chin on Koen’s shoulder, tears covering my cheeks, I smile and stare at the postcard from Costa Rica.
“Are you done cry—” Koen starts to speak.
“Shh … stop interrupting the universe.”
The End