22 December 2___

Dear Diary:                                                                                          

He’s getting weaker. He’s using a cane now, and it’s harder for him to get up from a chair. A few months ago, there weren’t any signs of a problem. It’s happened so quickly. He doesn’t complain. He even smiles. I love him.

I hope he will be strong over Christmas. Our daughter and son will be home from college tomorrow night. Then, they’re off skiing, followed by two weeks of independent study back at college, and a term paper to end the semester.

I so want this time to be good for us. They know he’s sick, and it’s serious. I haven’t filled them in on the details. I want to shield them as long as I can. I’ve been torn between telling them that their father is dying and letting them live their lives. I know how they will react. They’ll want to drop out of school. We don’t want them to lose their father and a year of college in the same year.


27 December 2___

Dear Diary:

Finally found some time to write about Christmas Day. It was wonderful! Tom was witty and cheerful...his old self. I was proud of him.

It was good to have our children home. I cannot describe how I have missed them, and how alive our home is now. Sara helped me prepare dinner, and Billy spent time with his father. He listened carefully to Tom. Their conversation seemed quite serious at times; but they also laughed a lot. I almost cried. Had to hold back tears a couple of times.

At dinner, we said our prayer while we held hands. I was so grateful! I felt so engulfed by love. Sara is becoming a good cook; I can’t imagine how I would have made it through without her.

We talked through dinner and into the afternoon. Sara has a boyfriend. She says it’s not serious, but you know how that is. She didn’t bring him home for the holidays, so I guess it’s not that serious yet. He’ll be at the ski lodge. I’m expecting to hear more about Gary.

Got to go, time to prepare lunch.


28 December 2___

Dear Diary:

Tom napped this afternoon. He’s put on a good front for the kids, but, I think, he’s pretty exhausted. The nap did him good. He seems to have more energy now.

His nap gave me a chance to talk with Sara and Billy. I told them that Tom’s time was coming, and that I would call them home as soon as we arrived at the final phase. Until then, Tom and I want them to continue with what they have planned and need to do. My kids had tears in their eyes when I finished. They were brave for me and each other. God, I never had to do anything harder. Child birth was a walk in the park in comparison to telling them their father is dying.

They wanted to stop and to stay and to help. It took me awhile to convince them that Tom and I think it is important for them to continue...for now. I promised, crossed my heart…hope to die (odd thing to say) that at the first sign I would summon them home.


30 December 2___

Dear Diary:

The kids left for their ski trip this morning. They wanted to stay. They left for us…for Tom…as we asked. Each in turn, Sara and Billy held Tom for a long time. I think they whispered how much they loved him. No tears, just lingering hugs. I could hardly hold back my tears.

Tom was aglow. It’s amazing what a transfusion of love can do. It’s much more effective than Taxol. He was so happy. I’m so glad the kids were so loving and brave. It couldn’t have been easy for them.

I’ve got to call Mrs. Brennan at the Hospice. It’s time to bring the hospital bed into our family room. Tom will be spending all his time in bed soon. The crutches are no longer enough. We’ll need a visiting Hospice nurse too. I can’t support Tom by myself; he’s six foot two and over 200 pounds. Mrs. Brennan tells me our nurse will become indispensable.

I’m not looking forward to the next month or two. Mrs. Brennan explained what’s coming down the pike. God, I’ll try to be brave for Tom because I can’t believe what he’s going to go through.


27 February 2___

Dear Diary:

I called Sara and Billy today. I told them it was time for them to come home. Tom needs them to be here; they need to be here. They understood and should arrive sometime tonight.

Tom has stopped eating solids; he’s just on liquids. He’s sleeping more and more. Thankfully, he’s cogent when he’s awake. Sally Brennan showed me how to give Tom morphine. Dr. Rudolph, Sally, and I want him to suffer as little as possible. I know he has pain: he doesn’t complain. He’s so damn brave!

Sally says he has a few more weeks to go. When the kids get home, I’ll explain what’s about to happen. With them here, I’ll have time to make the final arrangements and to get ready. I expect Sara and Billy will be doing a lot of crying when they’re alone. It’ll be harder on them than on me because their timeline is so short. I’ve been crying off and on for about four months now. I’m sure I’ve got more crying to do. I can’t believe the day is near when Tom won’t be here. We’ve been married for 24 years; together since our college days. I can’t imagine my life without him.

Time to prepare dinner. The kids will be coming in, and they’ll need a good, hearty meal.
 
                                                                   
AUTHOR'S BIO: Over the years Raymond Grant has had numerous careers from college assistant professor to federal government program manager to senior vice-president of an engineering research corporation. He and his wife live along the coast of Southern California. He writes poetry, flash fiction, and short stories. Ray is a Tri-Studio Author and a member of TheMuseItUp Club, Zoetrope Virtual Studio, Publishers and Writers of San Diego, and Readers Station. You can read some of his current stories and poems at www.Tri-Studio.com.