can she hear our children's wail, as babes, because of tooth pain or frustration?
i watch her, watch birds, and wonder what is fading away. i watch her and wonder what has already disappeared.
she still hums and sings, we still make love and afterwards talk intimacies.
though as each day passes i wonder what has been checked off, thrown to the fire or swallowed by disease.
this is getting harder.
i have dreams of pills, nooses or toasters in water and try to push them away. i have dreams that it is contagious and i, too, am infected. i have dreams but mostly fears about this thing eating away at her and me alone with her. i do not know if i am strong enough, i do not know if i can love her all the way to the end.
it is the beginning and i am surrounded by mirrors and microscopes dissecting myself and exploring the woe in me.
i watch
i study
i suffer
i think of me me me.
debra the sacrifice. first to her husband, then to her home, then to her children and now to this. a woman is the pillar supporting the home and like most pillars spends her life being pissed on graffiti and leaned against.
debra i try to watch you. i try to study you. i try to lift you, support you and tend to you. i try but already the focus shifts to me how this will affect me and whether i can weasel out of the tough parts.
i try to trace her face, not trace but chisel into the granite of memory. i try to remember her strengths and beauty. try to take every available kiss and open hand. i try to love with the strength she loves us all but end up nervous and taxed like a spoiled child in the pew.
'it's okay, listen it's okay if you can't do this. it's okay, i know i am sick. it's okay if you can't handle this, if you can't take care of me. it's okay, i know it's hard. it's okay we will find away, this would be too much for most anyone. i understand.' she says.
we are in our bedroom. we are just returned from the doctor. we are fresh with the language of impending doom. we are inbetween spells. the afternoon whistle of the robin rings out the three o'clock hour. she is cross legged on the bed in her flowing black skirt and smart white top. she has loosed her hair, she has removed her shoes and lazily rotates one foot in the air. debra is young at the moment with her hands at her side lock armed and staring deep into the horizon as a warrior watching the path their enemy will take.
'it's okay, it's too much, it's okay i will be fine,' she says.
she is stoic filled to the brim with the fierceness, with the giant red blood pumping heart that i adore and admire. she is bathed in sunlight as i am overtaken to overtake her. it is while our granddaughter watches her movie and plays her video games that we made love, that we weep that we promise.
'in for a penny, in for a pound,' i say.
'i am scared.' she says.
'so am i.'
'i don't want to lose these things we love. i love you i love you i love you,' she moves close to say.
then, while holding each other, while i felt her body move with tears that i promise.
'i won't abandon you.'
'really, i won't be angry if...'
'i won't abandon you.' i say firmly.
it is in the silence, after the statement, with the muffled sounds of cartoons that i felt the cold chill across my back and arms. it was then it came whispering across the ether to my ears it's snake tongue and body slithering from some dark reaches...
not enough
i try to bat it away.
not enough
and as i feel her breath steam my skin. as i feel her lashes blink and butterfly kiss my skin...
not enough
as we lay at the foot of the mountain before us we share a thought. it is the moments that come often when people have been together long enough, like telepathy. i may not be able to lift that promise, but i'll try. i may not make it to the end, but i'll try. i am not her strength, but i'll try. i am not enough and already am thinking of how this all effects me, but i will fight, i will try and hopefully i will carve out enough space to think of her us we.
we lay.
we are silent.
we fear.
we pray to the muted sounds of a cartoon band.
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