For Another Five Seconds

         

         Another          Five seconds          

          Remember the trip we took while we were still dating? We saved for two years to go to the Caribbean Islands for two weeks, just the two of us and thousands of others with the same idea. The funny part is, I only remember you and me being there.
          When we were married, your mother and father paid for a honeymoon cruise that included a bouquet of roses with sparkling Champagne waiting for us in our room upon arrival. Our cruise included a cabin upgrade, daily spa treatments, off-shore excursions, scuba lessons, swimming with dolphins, and dinners for two in specialty restaurants all over the ship. It was a good thing we brought our camera, or people would not have believed the special occasion cake we received on our last night on board, as well as the songs the Cruise Director and Entertainment Director sang on Karaoke Night during Open Mic Night.
          Our tenth wedding anniversary brought old friends and new ones together to celebrate old memories and new beginnings. The two of us were now four. We outnumbered you three to one, yet somehow, you still outvoted us in all challenges. I always made a fuss, but I am forever on your side.
          Remember when we bought our Australian Shepherd, and you named her Bella? You two became inseparable. We would walk every night after work and every weekend, no matter the season. At the time, your work schedule changed frequently. When this occurred, I would get a call or instant message with an update of where you would be at any given moment, and on the weekend, I had to provide you with Mommy Up-dates showing you your Little Girl having fun. We had countless hours of love and enjoyment with her.
          Over the years, our favorite place to go was the Northeast. It is a quieter, more straightforward place to visit with your preferred people to see. They became mine, too. Fall was the perfect time to go. Summer sausage, squeaky cheese curds, apple cider, smoked fish for dad, and apples. The foliage magically turned vibrant red, yellow, or orange overnight. And then, the leaves would disappear with a mysterious wave of a giant's hand.
          In the Fall, we went for a walk. It was a beautiful day. Bella was having an exciting time looking around, sniffing the air, and being loved by many passers-by. You and I were talking about nothing important.
          And you tripped over nothing.
          Fate decided she wanted to meet you personally one Fall day. Instead of being subtle, she decided to give you a brain tumor. It took seventeen hours for the doctors to remove most of the tumor. They couldn't remove it entirely because it had the consistency of gum: sticky, pliable, and resilient. The doctors explained that to get to the bulk of the tumor, they needed to cut the nerve leading to the right ear, removing it so they could have a path to the tumor, leaving you utterly deaf in that ear. Two tiny pieces were left. They would watch very closely and monitor if any new growth would occur.
          Your recovery was slow: over a month of inpatient physical, occupational, and speech therapy--every day, five hours a day. Some days were too long, and you became physically ill, and the doctor must be called. On good days, you breezed through all the therapies, had a good supper, and stayed awake past the 6:00 p.m. news.
          After you graduated from your therapy and moved back home, we had to move to a new apartment from the third floor to the first floor, which is more accessible for you. That was in 2016.
          We celebrated because your surgery, therapies, and the move are past. You were now growing stronger every day.
          I am so immensely proud of what you accomplished and overcame.
          In 2018, you tripped over nothing.
          A second surgery at Iowa City occurred. This one was only nine hours in length. The surgeon stated they believed only one small tumor fragment remained, smaller than the previous pieces. After a brief hospital stay, you went straight home and had your physical therapy from home.
          This time, your body is fighting against you. You've lost 80% of your ability to walk. Your vision in your right eye is complexly gone. Even though you are right-handed, you must use your left hand for all your writing needs. And you can no longer do your job and are on Disability.
          A small spot was seen after a Magnetic Resonance Imaging "MRI" was completed in late 2021. Your doctor did not feel surgery was the best option, and after discussing this with you, it was decided to have radiation treatment and another MRI after a year.
          At the end of 2022, the doctor stated there was no change.
          Tonight, you tripped over nothing.
          We talked about how you are feeling. You said you had headaches on the right side of your head but didn't want to worry me.
          We changed the subject to calm you down. We talked about "what-if" questions. Like, What if we won the lottery? What would we do?
          What would we buy first, where would we build our dream home, where would he go to spend some of the money, and who would get how much? We waived our rule of practicality this one time.
          I listened to you talk for over two hours about dreams and wishes; memories came forward, too. You had some tears you said were nothing, but we both know I knew better.
          When you noticed I hadn't told you what I wanted to do with any of the make-believe money, I grabbed your hand and said:
          "I would give it all up for another five seconds with you."