Chemo, Chardonnay + chest rises: a tale of Superman’s journey.

Chemo, Chardonnay + chest rises: a tale of Superman’s journey.

1/28/2020

“I can’t wait to get my old life back” he says. “Me too, I want that for you, too”.

I should’ve gone back to bed as soon as I stepped foot on the honey colored wooden floor this morning. What a fxcking day. I complained throughout it all. My day was bad. Technology fails, teenage wails, unexpected mail.

Still he slept & slept. & so peacefully so.

Loose hairs-mine because I shampooed on day #10 in the shower, him because of the infamous “red devil” pumped through his veins 2 days prior. Shit. 15 minute increments of alert convo is where we are, so hurry and say what you must. Although I want so badly to be wrapped in the familiarity of your agreement to these daily rants I have husband, because-

you. get. it. You do. But we’ve both had a day, and not that we should measure-but yes, yours trumps because at least my normal is still mine. Even as frustrating as it may be.

So tonight my love-no lights it is, a lavender scented candle burning by moonlight only… a long-stemmed glass of Chardonnay I hold in my right hand as I give you rhythmic ear rubs with the hand that holds the rings you placed 2 months to the day prior.. *sip, rub, sip* to the beat of Sabrina Claudio & Miguel as they engulf me in their melody. While I simultaneously watch your chest rise, up & down. And then again. And again some more. Until I tire.

Goodnight my love. Even if it is only 7:03 pm.

Dear chemo, I loathe you.