Anticipation

Marlou and I are staying close to home these days. In a good week, I manage to drive my van two, maybe three, times. I fuel up the car once a month, whether I need to or not. Things have scaled down in a natural way. Our month in Europe was a splendid one. But I still recall too much of the bodily aches and physical discomfort. It's good to be home. It's good for many reasons. Some are elusive. With cancer hanging over Marlou, and over us, the trip, its timing and its ardors, had a faintly urgent, if not panicky, sense about it. See the world before it no longer sees us. Now I see the trip itself. See that we had to do it. And see that we now have to do something else.

By process of elimination, if nothing else, "journey" gets redefined. Where were we trying to "go?" Now by sticking close to home, the real travels jump out of the walls. I can barely remember what occupied our attentions before Marlou got sick. Moving...or finding a condo in Menlo Park...dealing with our old cars...saving versus spending money -- all these things seem to have been on our minds. Some of them still are, but they feel like technical details. Life and death are staring us in the face. And we stare back. What do we see?

This morning, Marlou set off for work, followed by one of her three-monthly PET scans. Tests like this are, and may always be, part of her life. Each reminds us of the possibility and maybe the likelihood of cancer's recurrence. Or I can easily view Marlou's checkups, and my own, as a hurdle. One jumps, lands on the other side, keeps running. The problem is that I'm tired of running. I would prefer to freeze this track-and-field moment in midair. I'm approaching the hurdle... or Marlou is...and what's up ahead...hangs, like a runner in a freeze-frame leap.

Death. Marlou's or my own? Which am I fearing more? There's a reason why I just had safety railings installed in our bathroom. I can imagine my neck-shattering fall to the tile floor, my paralysis now total...an experience approaching death. Or...I can imagine Marlou gone, her side of the bed empty, everything empty, me bumping my wheelchair around a too large apartment. Life feeling blank and numb.

Often as I go to bed, as I turn out the light, I remember the thing I have forgotten. It's the possibility of reaching for Marlou, of getting and giving a hug. More than the embrace is the aching need behind it and the solace it provides. Perhaps this is uniquely me. All my life I have longed to be held and comforted. Now, with the possibility of such warmth and comfort and wholeness going away -- I tend to go away myself. Better than feeling needy. Better than feeling period.

Marlou has her own avoidance techniques. A year ago, long bouts of television-watching or PC-staring went off in me like aircraft collision alarms. Now I mentally hit "snooze" and try to get some rest myself. Neither of us can face everything all at once. We both run from reality. The wonder is that we're able to face mortality and our uncertain future at all. The miracle is that we can face it together.

So what has to be faced? What is it about death?

The anticipation of death -- my own -- is tinged with panic. Of course. The ultimate terror. And yet it isn't like this for everyone. In other places and at other times, death was part of the landscape. People knew it all might end. The possibility was there. Not imminent, perhaps, but there. Logically, I'm supposed to be dead already. Not everyone survives a gunshot to the spinal cord. I've had 40 years of luck -- what else can one call it? How much luck, or life, is one entitled to? Both will run out. Meanwhile, what can one be but grateful?

So much for logic. Fear nibbles away at the soul. Yet there remains a choice. Face it or fear it.

What if Marlou dies? What would the afterlife, or the aftermath, be like? What would I need?

In my worst imaginings, I die alone. I fall, and am scalded to death, in a shower. Alone. Much worse, I am doing some repairs on the Space Shuttle somewhere high above the Kennedy Center, my tether snaps and I fly off into the cold emptiness. Yes, it's a silly fantasy. Except for the cold emptiness. That lies at the heart of my fear.

The problem with fear is, simply put, that fear is no predictor. Anticipation is always different from reality. That's why living in the moment makes logical sense.

I have a good feeling about Marlou's current health. So does she. In fact, so does everyone who meets her. Marlou looks fine, feels fine, is fine. My good feeling extends to her cancer scan. I'm being positive, though I'm not feeling very positive about being positive. What does it matter how I feel about anything? My good feelings can't insure Marlou's good health. Perhaps it's foolish to hope for the best. Life so often delivers the worst. The anticipation of cold emptiness, panicky abandonment...that's always there. So, since you're already half feeling the worst, why not hope for the best?