Three Years

Three years.

It's been three years of dealing with the fallout of a non-malignant tumor. I mistakenly believed that non-malignant meant everything was going to be fine. "It's cancer, but it's not going to kill him." That's what the doctor said, and I felt relieved for the first time in months. I felt so relieved that when they sat us down and told us the tumor had grown so large that the risk of severing G's facial nerve was 60%, I nearly broke down in tears in front of the surgeon. "What does that mean?" we asked. "It means there is a 60% chance he will not be able to speak or smile. It means he will have palsy on that side of his face." I remember sitting in the surgical waiting room with our two children and it taking everything in me not to sob. Surgery took 6 hours and when it was over, I was just grateful he was alive; that he could smile through the haze of drugs and stitches and blood caked on his face.

Three years ago, everything changed.

Even as I type this I feel ashamed at how upset I am because I know there are people dealing with far worse. I know a specific person dealing with so much worse.

Watching him today absolutely destroyed my soul. He was so hopeful that they could fix this and to be met with something that can't be fixed, just merely managed, is heartbreaking. I've not seen him like this since California and I hate it. I hate that it's him and not me. I hate that we never went to Savannah for his full-ride art scholarship; that it took so long for us to realize what our relationship really meant; I hate that we didn't stick it out in LA even though we were drowning; I hate every moment that he was never able to fulfill his dream; and I hate that I love him so much that my heart has been breaking for three years.

I will never let us quit again.