For those of you who may not be aware, I recently went through my second round of Cancer surgery. If you’re interested in the kind, or the details, click here or here.
I’m cured at the moment. Everything is fine.
Something unexpected happened to me the other day, though.
I sat on the floor, packing up the paperwork after finishing our taxes for the year. I set one folder aside—the one with all the important investment information. I realized that I was the only one in the house that even knew this folder existed, so I didn’t want to bury it in the filing cabinet.
My husband entered the room, and grabbed something from the table.
“Sweetie,” I said. “Just in case anything ever happens to me, I need you to take this blue folder to a financial advisor. He will tell you what to do.”
His face grew pale. His expression blank.
I held up the folder. “I will keep it on top so you can find it easily if you ever need it, okay?”
He stared at me for a moment more, before he burst into tears. “It was just a little cancer spot,” he sobbed. “You’re not allowed to die!”
I sat on the floor, stunned. Actually dying was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment. I was just trying to be a responsible adult.
I jumped up and held him, his tears dampened my blouse. “Sweetie, that’s not what I meant. I just want to make sure you and the kids would be okay if…”
“Don’t say it!” His body shook in my arms. “I can’t do this without you. You can’t die first. You can’t leave me alone. I need you.”
“Sweetie, don’t worry. I’m not going to die.”
We held each other for a while, silent.
My husband is my rock. He stood beside me, holding my hand while they cut the cancer from my arm. He changed my bandages. He took care of me. It never occurred to me that he was just as scared as I was.
For the first time in months, the children didn’t interrupt our brief moment of intimacy. He needed that.
Maybe I needed that too.
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Jennifer M Eaton 