In Between

He is in between. Today, Art is at that place where he feels he can do some of the old stuff he used to do. He made breakfast for us this morning. He wanted to drive his sister and brother-in-law to the airport. He caressed my neck and face, something I haven’t felt since the beginning of August. His color is that of the “Maine and midwest stock” of which he is bred. The deep sea blue of his eyes are clear, no longer rimmed with dark circles or filled with dull red. If it wasn’t for the great weight loss he has experienced, I would forgot that there are cells in him, attacking. It looks and feels like our fight against lymphoma is over. It is a blessed grace period. He is overjoyed to feel functional again. 'Carpe diem' was lived by him today. He is inbetween the hell that was and the hell that will be.

I remain emotionally distant from him. My role as care taker still fresh and forward, my role as wife is somewhere inside. When I feel the wife emerging, I think of a tsunami. Wife will sweep in and weep and moan and scream and be aghast at all that has happened to her beloved. Wife will crumble, refusing to eat, unable to function. Wife knows the inside-out fear and will always be afraid until the words “one year, two year, five year” and “cancer free” are spoken. I am afraid she will wash away all the things the caretaker has put into place; duty, composure, organization and bravery.

So I too am in between, trying to keep wife at bay while simultaneously giving caretaker a break. I am not sure I can do both.

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