FROM THIS POINT FORWARD is where the train really came off the rails. It happened pretty easily and nobody really noticed how far off the tracks we were until it was over. In short, and you’ll see this unfold, our communication broke down more as each day passed. As much of an asshole as that might make me sound, it was a pretty even mix of Gina’s lack of ability to deal with things and me not forcing certain issues that were important. Every time I felt the urge to bring something up for discussion, I choked it back down with the reminder and excuse that she was the one going through this, and compared to that, my feelings were minimal.
The thing is, they weren’t. If I can give you one piece of advice, it would be to remember that your feelings aren’t insignificant. Don’t trample on her feelings or wishes, but don’t be scared to bring things up or force some conversations. Don’t let things go unsaid.
Find a way to communicate about how to handle the end when the end is coming. You can still fight and you can still hope, but you have to figure out how to handle the end WHILE YOU STILL CAN! I gave Gina all the space in the world, but all the while I was wishing she would reach out to me. As you’ll see, everything ended up getting pushed off and at the end of the day I was left standing in the ruins with a lot of questions and very few answers.
A black cloud had found its way over the house, settling in every facet of my life. It took over my relationship with Gina, the kids, my work, everything. I could feel myself starting my own death march. You remember the movie Dead Man Walking where Sean Penn is led out of his cell for the last time as they walk him down to the execution chamber? That’s how I felt when I woke up on Monday, and from that day on, every day was like another step down that hall. Even the sunny days that peppered themselves in there had a black tinge to them.
Gina had retreated to her Bible and reading scripture. I figured that was a pretty normal reaction. Think about it; how many times have you ever prayed to God the minute you got into trouble? I know I sure as hell have. The thing here was while Gina was always very into her faith, I wasn’t. I think Gina’s faith was part of the accelerant for my pulling away. At the time when I should have been pulling her and God in closer, I was starting to put some emotional distance between us. I’ve said it before, but I think it’s just in my nature as a defense mechanism. I started preparing to let her go.
I don’t think she ever knew this. Through the final moments I did everything I physically could for her. I handled whatever she wanted and was there to support and love her every step of the way. After all, I still loved her very much. That never waned. I started to feel the tension battle within myself of wanting to spend every last second with her, and at the same time wanting to distance myself from her and the whole death-tinged world that surrounded us. I felt bad about it, I really did. I felt ashamed for wanting some distance.
I guess the only way I can describe it is if you think of a relationship that just peters out. It begins to wane, and even though you still love each other you become less and less emotionally attached. This is how it was with me. I was becoming less emotionally attached, yet was still very much in love. Looking back at it now with a clear head, I know that I should have been tougher. I still carry a sense of guilt for having secretly desired this increasing amount of space.
Amazingly, as those first few weeks moved past us, the kids adjusted fairly quickly to what we were going through. Luckily school and their sports provided them all with distractions and kept their minds from really settling in on it. At this point Gina still felt pretty good, so she handled them for the most part. The home routine was still somewhat normal, so I was usually gone to work before they were awake, and their mother was the one at home when they got out of school.
I found myself paying close attention to them though, much more than I ever had before. Not in the sense that I never paid attention to my kids, but I began eagle-eyeing them for any problems. Obviously Gina handled them much more closely than I did because she was with them more on a daily basis. When the day came for Gina to go back to the doctor, she and I talked and she reiterated that she was still very much against the idea of chemo. I couldn’t blame her, even though hearing her say that hurt me more than I can put into words.
Mornings had gotten to be so sad around the house because I would find myself almost daily looking at Gina as if she were a museum exhibit. I mean I would literally stare at her knowing that she was going to be gone. The appointment wasn’t until later in the day so I went to work for the morning with the plan that I’d come back to get her for the appointment. That’s probably the best thing I could have done. It was a nice step away from my cancer-clouded house to be able to go and focus on work. Routines are great in the sense that they allow us to compartmentalize and really escape. Whenever I would get to the office, it was like a switch went off and everything at home was gone. Not that I ever forgot it, because trust me, it never truly leaves your mind, but for a few hours I could at least operate as a normal human being. Going home was never fun. It’s hard to explain but my mind used to struggle with itself at this point. Part of me would be excited the day was over and I was able to go spend time with my dying wife, but at the same time, part of me dreaded it. Talking to my mom or my sister was equally as sad. Every conversation pretty much centered around Gina and how she was feeling. I couldn’t blame them for being so concerned. I’m glad they were, but at the same time it felt like that was all I talked about with them. With anyone. Cancer had taken over everything in my life, including my conversations.
Driving home to get Gina for the doctor’s, I began to feel as though we were going through the motions. Have you ever been on a team or part of a group that consistently lost? Like every game that you went into you knew you were going to get your ass kicked? That’s what it felt like. I never communicated this to Gina but everything we were doing now felt more like we were checking things off of a To-Do list as opposed to living life. Even my focus at this point was shifting from being strong for her to being strong for the kids.
Walking into the doctor’s office even felt different at this point. It wasn’t like before when I would be able to walk in with a sense of hope or optimism. Now when I walked in with Gina I still felt like we were a team, but a losing one. We sat with the doc and it killed me to look across the desk at him. You could see the sadness in his eyes and that just made my heart sink even further. I don’t know why. I knew what we were walking into but even still, when you’re going through this your emotions become a roller coaster.
As he started talking, the picture got even bleaker. By the time he was done I felt like I had just been beaten down. For the first time in my life, I felt like quitting. Looking across the desk at him I knew that there was no way we were going to beat this. Even worse, there wasn’t much we could do to slow it down. He outlined a treatment plan for her that if all things went well, might give her another twelve to eighteen months.
You know how it looks when a boxer is wobbling on his feet just before he gets hit with that roundhouse knockout punch? That’s how I felt, and hearing the words “maybe a year or a year-and-a-half” was the knockout punch. We weren’t talking about a business contract or a cell phone plan; this was the outline for how long my wife had to live. My heart hit the floor with a thud. I felt nauseous and lost and defeated all at the same time.
When Gina looked at me, it broke my heart. She looked at me with a look I don’t ever recall seeing in her. She was a smart woman and tougher than nails, but I could see in her eyes that she was hoping against hope this might somehow give her a chance to live and now it was outlined pretty clearly—that wasn’t going to happen. Deep down she was still praying for that miracle where someone would tell her she had a shot, and she was looking at me with eyes that wanted that someone to be me. My eyes welled up with tears and it took everything I had not to cry. All I could mutter was that I would support her in whatever she wanted to do.
Surprisingly the doctor convinced her to go ahead with the treatment plan. I felt a mixture of excitement and disappointment wash over me. I knew what she was looking for and I could sense that his urging her to take the treatment was something she was twisting into hope.
Walking out of there truly felt like ‘dead man walking.’ Even though we had a new plan, it wasn’t like there was any sort of renewed energy or hope. We both knew it wasn’t going to fix anything but it might buy us some time. I remember being unfathomably mad at a lot of people. My anger was for pretty much everything; God, Karma, doctors, you name it. If I could look at it, I blamed it. It comforted me a little that she was going to have some more time with the family, but I suspect that’s pretty natural. Even when you have a sick pet or an old grandparent, you always want to postpone death.
There wasn’t a lot of conversation in the car but I could just see in her face that she finally heard what he said. She understood that this was only going to buy her some time. She mumbled that she wasn’t looking forward to the chemo but that was about it. For my part, my mind was swimming with thoughts about the end. I was thinking about preparations and what we needed to do as a couple. This was the first time I even started what I call ‘dark daydreaming;’ I started to think about things like the girls weddings without their mom. As time went on I would find my mind going to this place, to future events that their mother would not attend. Christmas, prom, Mother’s Day, and all of those special life events.
I felt sorry for her so I kept my mouth shut but looking back, I wish I hadn’t, because that was the moment where it couldn’t get any worse. It wasn’t like I was going to kill a good day and I’m not saying we should have dove right in, but if ever there was a window for me to say something like “…maybe we should start thinking about some things to get in order,” that was it. The end was literally just outlined right in front of our eyes, and we still wouldn’t address it. My God, I’m such a pussy.
The kids were home and expecting us because we told them we were going to the doctor. We all sat down in the family room and it was like experiencing bad déjà vu. I mean, we had already done this once. I could see it in the girls’ eyes—that hope against hope that things were going to be okay for Mommy. It’s moments like this that really try your backbone as a man.
There’s a fine line between being truthful and scaring the shit out of them, and we tried to be very cognizant of that. As a parent you want to cushion the blow but at the same time, you don’t want to sell them a bag of goods when you know what the reality is going to be. We wanted to be honest and truthful but at the same time we candy-coated it a little and told them that Mommy was going to try another treatment but that there were no guarantees.
I got a little scared because the kids didn’t cry at all. Not that I wanted to see them cry, but I paid close attention to their eyes and they seemed to be digesting the news as if this was one more shot. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should interject to make sure they understood fully or if I should let them ride it out and not squash their optimism. I quickly chose to ride it out, recognizing that reality would set in soon enough and they would have the rest of their lives to try and understand it.
As I watched this transaction of information, my mind drifted back to me. Once again, as I looked at Gina I thought to myself that this wasn’t what I signed on for. I was only 39-years-old and I was watching my wife tell our children that she was dying of cancer.