It's 5:24 a.m., Wednesday, which I remind myself is "Garbage Day." I'm supposed to be studying, writing a paper on Acute Myeloid Leukemia. My brain won't settle down. The images and words of yesterday flit across the screen of my mind. It was a school holiday, oldest son not home yet from Scouting Camp Out. Melanoma Man decided to take youngest son to Harry Potter World for the day-ambitious.
At work I received texts and photos from Melanoma Man every 45 minutes or so, throughout the day: "More walking" and "I'm dead meat" just two of the many. Interspersed photos of smiling youngest son. Worry, worry and I so wish Melanoma Man would not say things like "I'm dead meat."
Reunited last night: me home from work, oldest home from camping, MM and W back from their adventure with a Chocolate Frog and Bernie Bots jelly beans and memories.
In the bath, W calls to Melanoma Man, "Dad would you read to me? I brought your chair and my book to the bathroom so you can read to me."
Melanoma Man heeds the call, up from the sofa, stops at the doorway of the kitchen to catch his breath, dutifully reads to our young son for 5 minutes or so. Then back to the sofa to rest. I step in to pick up the reading where MM left off. W: "Mom, I wish Dad didn't have this sickness. Will he get better mom?"
Instead of saying "We've had our better. Now comes our worst," I say "I don't know. I don't know." It is a lie. I DO know, but I cannot say: "These are the good times babe. These are the good times."