Getting Older

I guess it all started when I stayed with my son and his family for the Christmas holidays last year. Don’t get me wrong. We all had a great time eating, laughing and doing the typical things that come with families getting together. The problem was that there was something missing, and we all felt it. You see, my wife had died of ovarian cancer the previous January, and, man!, was that tough. She was a real trooper through it all. She fought it with surgery and chemo, but then the chemo became too much, and she chose to live her life to the fullest till the inevitable end. She lasted two years without the chemo. They were very good years. Since we knew we didn’t have much time left, we celebrated the time we had like we were newlyweds. We went out to plays and ballets and concerts as often as we could. We even went on a Caribbean cruise and took a tour of the whole continent of Europe. Those were things we always wanted to do but put off because of other responsibilities and because we were always saving, just in case. Well, the just-in-case was upon us, so we indulged like never before. We splurged on ourselves because we wanted to get the most we could out of the time we had left. But the shadow of her cancer hung over us like a wet blanket. One day I caught her silently weeping as she sat by the bay window looking out at the spring flower buds and the tiny new leaves. I put my arms around her and kissed her gently on her forehead. “I know, Sweetheart, I know. But we can get through this together. You know I’m here for you. And so are our children. Keep the faith, my Love. We’ll try to make the best of it till …” And that’s when she looked up at me with her tear-stained cheeks and said, “Till … I’m no longer here. Donnie, you know full well I believe there is an afterlife, and I believe that God is merciful. But I’m still scared. I’m going away into uncharted territory, and I’m not sure I’m strong or brave enough to see it through.” “Joannie, you’re the strongest and bravest person I’ve ever known.” My chest began to heave with grief. We have to trust in God and trust in ourselves. We need to believe we can turn these lemons into lemonade.” Then she stood up, turned to me, and pressed herself against me as if she were trying to melt into my soul. I felt a deep sadness, but I also felt empowered by this lovely lady who was entrusting me with her destiny. How I hoped I would be worthy of that trust! It wasn’t too long after that when Joannie took a turn for the worst. She lost her strength and began to waste away. How miserable I felt! Here was my one true love slipping away from me—and I couldn’t do anything about it, except to be there for her as much as I could to strengthen her and take away her fears. I called hospice and we set up a mini hospital in our bedroom. When the time came, I phoned Alex and Mary and asked them to come home to be with their mom for her last days. They came; they wept; they told their mother how much they loved her. They hid from their mother how devastated they were, but they cried on my shoulder, and I now had three people that needed my strength. We held on till the day when we were sitting around Joannie’s bed just making small talk when suddenly she sat up and reached out her arms as if to embrace someone in the room. But it wasn’t us. With a breathless and breaking voice she called out, “I’m coming, Mom and Dad.” Then she laid back down and reached up to the three of us. I grasped one hand; the children grasped the other. She smiled and with her last breath whispered, “I love you all.” Then she let go. Her last breath left her, and so did her spirit. I thought I saw a cloud-like haze rise from her body, and then I knew she was no longer there. You know, I have to stop talking about this now or I’ll be no good for the rest of the day. So if you don’t mind, I’ll tell you why I decided to go see Michael. As I now think about it, it seemed to begin before that Christmas visit. After Joannie’s death everything on the outside seemed just fine, but the emptiness I felt within seemed to spread to every corner of my soul. Yes, I laughed with the family, and, yes, I played with little Abby and made her giggle. But as the time wore on, the joy I had felt at the beginning of the visit wore off only to be replaced by a sense of duty to my family and a feeling of getting through the day rather than embracing it. You see, this new feeling was all about how I was feeling about my future. Slowly but surely a sense of weariness was overtaking me. It wasn’t the sense that I had nothing to look forward to; it was the feeling that there was no reason to look forward to anything in the first place. I had retired from the job I loved as a high school history teacher in order to spend as much time as I could with Joannie. Before she got sick, I had expected to continue on as a teacher till “I would slump over my podium because I simply ran out of steam.” But I couldn’t leave Joannie all alone at home with the cancer.