An Eric Interruption

This experience so far has been like a series of musical movements within a grand composition with which we can only anticipate its climax.  It has been a lot like listening to a classical piece from Beethoven.  As Krissy and I roll along adjusting to the tune, the music suddenly stops, switches gears, and we are left to pick up our seats, move into the next room, and adjust to the new score.  I say all of that to say this - it has been an emotional rollercoaster for both of us.

Every time we got discouraging or distressful news, it hits us hard.  When Krissy was diagnosed, we both cried together, weakly shaking and sobbing.  I imagined her suffering while the cancer slowly wasted her body away.  I thought about all the anxieties and fears that would run through Krissy's mind as her body helplessly deteriorated and died.  Would she fear death?  Would she feel like she failed Brandon?  There were going to be so many important events that she would miss.  I saw my beautiful wife lying helpless, losing weight and spirit day by day while our little baby cried for his mommy.

"Mommy.  Mommy.  Up!  Up!"

"Mommy can't pick you up, son.  Come here, I'll pick you up and we can sit with mommy on her bed."

I thought about the trivial activities that to Brandon was anything but trivial.

"Mommy, come and color with me.  Draw me a helicopter like the one you flew in when you were in the Army."

"Mommy can't draw right now, Brandon.  How about you and I draw a special helicopter for her.  We can color it green and draw the Hawaiian Islands with it.  Then, we can show her and see if we did it right."  Of course, we did it right.

When kindergarten rolls around, there would be no mommy to walk Brandon to class.  There would be no Krissy to help me pick out his outfit for his very first day of school.  There would be only me and Brandon having mommy's special pancakes for breakfast.

"Hey bud, when we're done eating, I need you to help me pick something out for you to wear to school."

"I could wear the Angels baseball shirt.  Mommy used to like the Angels, right?"

Of course, I thought about myself.  There is no way around that.  A couple days after the diagnosis, I stood with my hands on the kitchen counter, head hanging low, crying.

"I don't want to lose you.  I've already lost more than anyone should lose in a lifetime.  I fought so hard for us.  Now, you're leaving."

It seems with our partnership that whenever one of us is weak, the other is strong.  Always.  We are truly a team.

"Eric, I'm not going anywhere.  I'm going to fight this and win."

Always the optimistic, Krissy.  Me?  I'm always the practical, logical, one.  I am Commander Spock to her Captain Kirk.  We are truly a team.  Over the next year, Krissy proceeded to prove her point.  She exceeded all expectations with every treatment and test.  Brandon proved to be a concentrated source of pure joy for us.  From August until today, for almost a year, one day at a time, Krissy has followed the council from her medical staff.  She has taken her medication exactly as advised.  She has chosen to eat healthy (with the occasional indulgence - hey, she still has a life to live).  Despite having a dissolving lumbar, she gets the exercise that strengthens her without compromising the integrity of her injuries.  She surrounds herself, online and in person, with only those that serve her spirit.  She knows that she has a responsibility in her recovery and she takes it very seriously.  When she was diagnosed, the literature said she had somewhere from three to seven years to live.  Now, it is looking like ten.  Ten years from now, it will likely be more.  The way Krissy has taken control of this situation will enable her to be healthy and strong long enough to bury me.  I think she'll handle it better than I would her.  Every day I am acutely aware that I am a fortunate man, and tell her all the time.  I think she believes me.