When the morning comes

44 | I'm ready

I'm staring outside the window. My gaze is onto the clouds. I can see her. I can feel her. Golden hairs flowing through my fingers. Grey eyes gazing her younger brother. A white dress twirling around her short legs. I've never felt so close to her before. My beautiful Eden. When I go, I hope to meet her.

Swipes of pink, orange and soft red are messily brushed all over the sky, showing the Great Artist's greatness through nature. The colors remind me of the sticker that's stuck to the bag with fluids, which are slowly dripping into my veins. You are sitting across me. Elbows on your knees. Cheeks resting in your hands. I'm just typing away. I wonder what's going through your beautiful mind at this moment.

Just one last time, and then we can go home and stay there for a while. I've been knitting more hearts. Sometimes I want to give you one, but I don't mean to put your strength to shame. Just because I'm carrying the disease, doesn't mean I have it harder.

I feel like sometimes, the disease is harder for the people surrounding the sick person. I see the pain in your eyes. I can feel it in your embraces. I hear it in your voice. You are suffering. Oh, how I wished I could take away all of your sorrows and pain. You are worth a million things more than all of this, Sole.

We're at home. I'm on the couch. You're cooking. Both waiting for our son to come home. Il mio motivo. Just like you are. The typing feels heavier. As if the typing machine is getting old and weary, finishing off our story, thinking he's heard it all by now. Maybe it's just my weakening strength.

Your cooking smells amazing, but at the same time I'm trying to hold down the content of my stomach. It pains me. I want to eat, want to enjoy, want to feel my roots. But at the same time my body is holding me back, telling me stop and not go further for no further damage.

Though, it feels like a blessing to know that I'm not going through this alone. You've been amazing, Zev. Still are. An amazing husband, father, friend. You try to keep all heads above water, even when I know you want to collapse to the floor at times too. And I wish you'd do it more often, so you gave yourself time to rest in these restless days.

Just a few hours, and it will be time to go to sleep. I can't wait to lie in your arms and feel as if everything will be just fine. No matter what happens.

It's a few days later. A lot has happened since then. I wanted to write you more, Sole, but I couldn't. When we went to sleep that night, the stomach aches were worse than before all of the chemo's and toxicity. I couldn't close one eye.

Moaned in pain. Couldn't breathe. And on top of that, the sickness made its way up all the time. Benjamin woke up because of me. Had a temper. You had to calm down the both of us. I feel so.. helpless. Another call to Teddy. Another bed to sleep in for Benjamin. Another hospital visit.

Emergency this, emergency that.

You carried me over to the car, wrapped me in blankets, strapped me safely before driving off to the hospital with an insane speed. So fast, it'd felt like I had been dreaming, and before I could realise it myself, I was in a bed. Nurses, doctors, machines surrounding me. But I could only feel your hand squeezing mine. I squeezed yours back. It went on and on.

It made me smile. I knew with you by my side, I would be okay. No matter what. You stroked my hair. When you pulled your hand away, I saw how your smile faltered. Your gaze fixed upon your hand.

I glanced the direction you were staring at. You had a handful of my hair.

"It's okay." I'd whispered. Stroked your cheek. "I've already knitted myself some nice hats."