Our favorite time together.
The day is exhausted and literally dying of thirst as the heat escapes the scorched earth and seeps skyward through the remaining stubborn streaks of grey.
Yes, I have finally had time to cool down and really think about this.
The logical thing (and I do fancy myself as a logical individual) is to look at the pros and cons of the relationship.
On the plus side of the ledger, she is very loyal; she bailed me out of jail on eight different occasions, suffered through three bankruptcies, two repossessed vehicles, one foreclosure, she raised my four children, giving birth unassisted to each in the same wooden bed. She schooled each child herself through the sixth-grade level and our two daughters are performing at the very highest levels.
She even physically stood up to a woman who was giving me a ration of shit. She knew that I could not retaliate physically, so she takes up arms and proceeds to administer a first-rate ass-whipping to this mouthy hag of a windbag!
My little spouse!
She never forgets to cover me up whenever I fall asleep in front of the TV. Or outside, in the hammock, should I nod off under the cool desert sky.
I never even have to ask for anything anymore; she seems to know what I am thinking, what I want (or need), and it seems to magically appear in front of me.
She is the most generous individual I have ever met and will literally give you the shirt off her back if needed.
Honest to a fault, she is incapable of lying. When faced with any two decisions, she will choose the RIGHT one.
Not the most profitable, not the easiest, nor the most expedient, not the one that places her interests in the most favorable light.
The right one.
She suffered through watching my diseased body whittled down first my feet, then progressing to losing both legs all the way up to the new surgically-implanted hip bones. She never once complained having to go through each new surgery and the inevitable hospital stay.
The non-stop trips to and from the ICU and surgery, the doctors not even attempting hopeful banter anymore.
She didn’t even flinch when the doctor told her that I was showing signs of inoperable cancer in my left shoulder and her response was a very predictable “What is the next step doctor? What are our options?”
That’s my girl.
So I am laying there, tubes sticking out of every orifice, and I am hitting the morphine feeder button like I’ve got the winning answer on Jeopardy.
I start to drift off, but evidently not fast enough.
I had to squint, but I could definitely (100%—NO MISTAKES) see my friend’s hand resting way too comfortably on my wife’s lap. She is doing nothing to remove it, and as the nurse adjusts my drip line, and the pain-killing drug totally relaxes me, off I drift into never-never land.
I am not sure how long I was out, but I stirred awake shaking my head like I had just been hit by a Conor McGregor spinning backfist.
Through the fog I looked over at my loving wife and all I could think of was one thing:
She’s got to go.