3
Instead of getting drinks with everyone after work, I rush home to be with Ben.
I know I will have a life full of after-work drinks, dinners, and parties ahead of me, and he does not. Thankfully, no one
gives me a hard time when I skip out.
“Hey, hey.” I step inside our condo and immediately smell vomit. “Ben?” I rush to the bedroom. The covers have been shoved
back, rumpled, as if in a rush, and there’s a wisp of viscous bile on the floor. I follow the sluglike trail to the bathroom,
where I find Ben, head deep in the toilet bowl. He raises one hand limply.
“Hey, babe.”
I kneel beside him, feel his cheeks to see if they’re warm, and rub his back in gentle circles. “Why didn’t you call me?”
He swipes a hand across his mouth and sits back. The fatigue on his face is about so much more than getting sick right now.
It’s been a year of not feeling well, of being so engrossed in every symptom, every second of the day, because a simple cold could morph into an infection and kill him faster than the cancer. For a man who rarely, if ever, got sick before his diagnosis, this is a cruel way to spend his final months of life, and I wish there was something more I could do to make him feel better.
But there is , a voice reminds me. His idiotic idea. “Is it something you ate?”
He nods. “Probably. I was feeling pretty good and might have gone a bit overboard with lunch. I’m okay, though. Feeling better
already.” He places a hand on his stomach and sighs.
I press the back of my palm to his forehead now that he’s sitting upright. He doesn’t feel warm, and I instantly relax. The
fact that he was feeling better this morning is a good thing. He’s still learning his limits with what he can eat, however.
Though his doctor suggested palliative care, he doesn’t feel ready yet. And because he’s not doing any treatment now, he’s
pretty much on his own.
He closes his eyes. “How was your last day?”
“It was sweet.” I want to pounce and ask him about what Jenna said, but I need to make sure he’s not going to be sick again.
“Good, I’m glad.” His eyes stay closed as he offers a small smile.
The toilet water runs between us, bubbling and then settling as I contemplate how to ask him about Jenna without seeming insensitive
to how he’s physically feeling. But I know myself; if I don’t get it off my chest soon, it will drive me crazy.
“When did you tell Jenna and Wren about your big idea?”
His eyes snap open and he shifts to look at me. “So she told you.”
“What I really want to know is what she was talking about when she said you and Wren had something to tell me?”
“Oh. That.” He winces. He exhales and then closes his eyes again. “Wren and I were chatting and thought it would be an interesting
idea for you to pursue your art for a while.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like, maybe quit your job and try to make it as an artist?”
I wait for the punch line, but there is none. “Oh, sure,” I say as I adjust my back against the tub. “I’ll quit a job I love,
lose my health insurance and benefits to chase some pipe dream. Seems totally rational.” He’s hit a nerve, and we can both tell.
Ben knows most things about my life, but he doesn’t know how hard I fell on my face in my twenties after trying to do just
what he’s suggesting. It’s a time in my life I don’t like to revisit... for more reasons than one.
“Look, if I’d decided to teach music instead of going after my dream, how would my life have turned out?”
“But it worked out for you,” I insist. “You got your lucky break. I didn’t. And I happen to love my job.”
“Do you?”
“What, because teaching art can’t be enough for me? I can’t be happy with what I’m doing? I’m supposed to want more?”
“When you’re as talented as you are? Yes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” This is the second time in as many days that he’s pressing buttons, and I want to know why.
“It means that you’re hiding!” His voice bellows in our tiny bathroom. “You’re in a comfort zone. You’re not really happy!”
Both of us sit in stunned silence. Ben rarely raises his voice, and never at me. I place a hand on his arm. “Ben, where in
the world is all this coming from? Needling me about my job? Wanting me to find someone else?”
He looks at me with tears in his eyes. “Because I cannot leave this world without knowing you’re okay.” His voice has dropped to a whisper. “I want you to have your dreams. I want you to spend your life with someone. I want you to have everything, Harper.”
My tears match his. “Don’t you see that I already do?” Even with the inevitable end looming in front of us, I wouldn’t trade
a single day of being with him for anything.
“Ugh.” He exhales and draws his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m just panicking.”
“You’re not an idiot. Well, on second thought...” I nudge him and that gets a small smile. “Look, Ben. I get it. I do.
Everything feels like it’s out of your control. But you can’t control the outcome of my life too. That’s for me to figure out, okay?”
Instead of responding, we sit in silence, something that is happening more and more the sicker he gets. It makes me realize
how quick we are to fill the quiet in everyday life, how we jump over each other to talk without really listening. I’ve learned
more about my husband from the silences between us than any meaningful conversation. I used to avoid them, afraid of what
I might find there, but now I welcome them because it forces both of us to face our feelings.
“I just want you to consider it,” Ben finally says.
“Which part? Finding someone else or pursuing art?”
He smirks. “Well, both, ideally, but maybe we could start with art?”
“We’ll see.” I don’t tell him that ship has sailed—that after a brief stint of going all in, it was clear I was meant to teach,
not paint. Plus, even if I wanted to pursue art, the world is a very different place than it used to be. I’m not an Instagram
influencer or a TikTok star, for one.
He rolls his head toward me and smiles, his eyes crinkling in that exact way I love. “It’s a start.” He gingerly caresses my cheek, then grips the edge of the tub as he struggles to stand. I help him, and once we are upright, he pulls me into a hug. The outline of his bony ribs jabs my palms beneath his shirt. My fingers dance over them, counting them under my breath. It seems like yesterday I was holding him in our honeymoon suite, my arms caressing well-developed muscles. Now I feel I could break his bones if I squeeze too hard.
“Do you feel up for a short walk around the block? Maybe get some fresh air?” When we first met, we’d take our bikes and ride
the long, winding road up Lookout Mountain. Drivers would honk in admiration as their cars chugged upward to visit Rock City,
while we cranked our way up the punishing incline. At the top, we’d have a beer and stare at the astonishing view as the mountain
breeze cooled us. Now he gets winded walking from room to room.
“Maybe in a little bit. I think I’m going to rest awhile.”
“Okay. I’ll make us some soup for later.” I kiss his forehead and tuck him into bed, turning off the light as I leave. I stand
in our condo, which was once so full of life but now grows quieter and darker each day. I know the end is coming; I can feel
it in my bones, and despite all of our talks and preparations, I am not ready to say goodbye. In many ways, we are still getting
to know each other. How can it already be over?
I swipe the tears that come and decide to go on a quick walk by myself while he’s resting. Maybe I’ll even walk down to my
studio, like Ben suggested. Air it out. It’s been a while. I slip on my shoes, take the elevator down, and step outside.
The Chattanooga heat warms my face as the mountain wind ruffles my hair. We live right by the pedestrian bridge, and people are out riding their bikes, walking their dogs, holding hands. No matter how dismal it gets in our condo, when I step outside, I am faced with the fact that life constantly moves on, that there will be life after Ben, even if I don’t want it.
I step onto the bridge and smile at other pedestrians. I pause at one of the blue benches overlooking the water and sit.
Ben constantly tells me how stoic I’ve been through all of this, but what I don’t tell him is that I am absolutely terrified.
Besides my grandparents, I’ve never lost anyone close to me, especially not a lover. And Ben is so much more than just my
partner; he’s in my marrow. He’s part of me. I can’t imagine a day without him, much less a lifetime.
What if I do end up all alone?
I close my eyes and begin to cry, wiping my eyes behind my sunglasses as I stare at the glittering water and the pulse of
life all around. Down below, people are sprawled on colorful blankets in the park, a few kids going round and round on the
carousel. I probably need to find a support group soon, open myself up to other people who are going through the same thing.
I let the emotions pass, then stand and continue across the bridge.
I think about when we first met, which was less than three years ago. Everything seemed so easy then, the world at our fingertips.
I truly believed that anything was possible and that our lives were just getting started. It boggles my mind how much we’ve
been through in such a short time.
But as I’ve learned, today is all that matters. I’ll continue to take life one day at a time until Ben has no more time left.