He adjusted his glasses and read it again… it still read the same way – cancer; terminal cancer. Slowly he put the paper down and removed his glasses. From habit, he pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and proceeded to wipe the lenses of some imaginary speck of grease, some dirt that may have caused him to misread the letter. He knew, of course, that he had not misread it; he didn’t make mistakes of that kind. The finality of the diagnosis pulled at the edges of his mind, threatening to crumble that invincible wall that he had so carefully placed around his feelings so many years before.
Reluctantly, he picked up the letter and scanned it again, hoping to find some small imperfection that he could use to destroy its credibility. It wasn’t that he couldn’t believe it – it was that he refused to believe it despite his awareness that the doctor was a man of impeccable character and capability. The top man in his field within a 500 mile radius of his home; a man that had politicians, movie stars and captains of industry as his clients.
Should he tell his wife? Should he lay the burden on her shoulders as well? Would it not be kinder to keep her unaware of the situation until it was too far gone to be hidden? Or was it merely cowardice on his part that sought to hide the truth from his partner of more than 35 years? The truth was that she might figure it out on her own even if he didn’t say a word about the letter or its contents. He never underestimated her ability to discern when things were just not quite right but he hoped that he might use some diversion that would throw her off.
With a sigh, he realized that, in all fairness, he should let her know – after all, she believed in sharing all things. Even the bad things. He just hated hurting her even when he knew that it was the right thing to do. How would her life be after the cancer had its way? How would she cope with the grief? Life was such a fleeting thing at the best of times and death was the end for everyone but why did it have to be cancer? Why not a simple falling asleep and failing to wake up?
He pushed back his chair and went in search of his wife. She was, more than likely, in the garden tending to her flowers so he opened the French doors that opened onto the patio and stepped outside. The garden lay before him, a thing of beauty that reflected the beauty of its keeper. He found her kneeling in front of the fountain watching the gold fish in the pond darting in and out of the lily pads.
“Sweetheart, I have some rather bad news,” he said.
Even as he said it, he knew that he had not approached it with the grace that he needed to. Her shoulders hunched slightly and she slowly turned around. Her beauty staggered him as it always did when he first glimpsed her face – it was incredible how much he loved her.
Bravely, she smiled and looked at him questioningly – waiting for him to reveal to her what was weighing so heavily on his mind.
“The doctor confirmed it – its cancer.”
A shadow crossed her face and then the determination that was such a part of her shone forth.
“Well, she has had 14 good years and, after all, cats don’t live forever. Just don’t tell her, please – she wouldn’t understand.”
2 comments:
I followed you down the glorious path you laid it out with your words, but glad it was the CAT in the end. You didn't tell her, did you?
No, I didn't. Even if I had, she wouldn't have believed me - she was kind of an independent sort of cat who didn't trust what I said all that much. I do miss her, though.
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