Deep breaths and stifled tears. These shall serve as my lunch today, along with this consoling cup of hot coffee.
I feel as if the world is playing a big joke on me. I feel as if I have just woken up from a bad dream — empty and surreal. But really, I don’t know what to feel because sorrow, anger, bitterness, blame, and every heart-wrenching emotion imaginable are all waging a terrible war inside me.
It’s strange how two hours can change everything. An hour of tests, an hour of diagnosis — 120 minutes of battling through every possible fear. Those two hours have turned my whole world upside down in an instant.
He’s still with Dr. Gonzales, there, in that hateful health centre across the street. I know I should be there with him, I know I should be holding his hand, but first I need time to think, I need time to breathe, I need — I need someone to hold me and tell me it’s all going to be okay before I could face him — before I could face them — again.
The coffee cup appears to be looking at me sympathetically. I wrap my cold hands against the warm porcelain and I imagine it giving me a consoling hug in return.
How can I go back to them? How can I go back to him? How can I look back into the eyes my love now that I know —
Now that I know that he is dying?
My breath catches as I again try to make sense of it all.
Lung cancer. And he doesn’t even smoke.
He’s going to call off the engagement for sure. I know him well enough to know of his heart to protect me. But I can’t bear the thought of living without him. I can’t bear the thought of not marrying him. I can’t bear —
I can’t bear it, no. I won’t let him break it off. I won’t.
He deserves to live the final moments of his life with the woman he loves. We deserve to at least be together, no matter how short time allows.
I drown the rest of my coffee, rise up, open the door, and make my way back to the health centre once more.