This Kind Of Love

I want to talk about Blake. It's gonna be a little awkward, because I know he (and you) will read me. But I suppose that's what one gets for inviting the neighborhood into one's head. I just finished reading a chidren's book "The Tale Of Despereaux" in which the author frequently addresses the reader, and it made me think even more about the fact that I've let you in here. To say I'm aware of you now is an understatement. But I'm determined to keep my thoughts and feelings candid, since "real" was one of my goals when I began to write. Blake is a great husband. He runs circles around me organizationally. He's ridiculously good at follow-through. So, faced with the task of supporting a cancer companion, Blake takes his role very seriously. Sometimes this makes me so mad! I don't want to drink 32 oz. of water that tastes like pennies. I don't want to remember my vomit pill at 3 am. I don't want to hobble to the end of the street and back every day. But Blake insists. He's really good at guilting me if I'm not willing to do these things. If I had the energy, I might HIDE from him! And I already admitted that I'm not always nice to him. I just get so sick of his ever-present efficiency, even in the face of an obstacle as daunting as cancer. I think the real problem is ownership. I want to want to be like him. I want compliance to be my idea. But I'm a lazy rebel, which is exactly why he and I are bonded for life and beyond. I need his brand of obedience pushing me from the rear if I'm going to turn out at all. He claims that my cancer is for him. He thinks he'll learn patience and compassion. He thinks he'll learn to put the person before the project. I don't know what else he really expects to learn. He scrutinizes my face, looking for clues about how I'm feeling. I can feel him staring. He does "heavy sigh" and says "oh buddie" a lot. I'm beginning to understand how hard it is to know how to support a suffering companion. He doesn't want to make me grumpy. He tries so hard to please me I have to groan! But he also lets his guard down now and then. Out of nowhere, he'll melt into a rare moment when tears slide down and sobs escape. He tries to tell me how hard it is for him to watch me go through this. He tries to touch me gently enough. He tries to explain how he just wants to do it right, to make me comfortable, to serve me well, to be reassured that he's been a good companion so far. He doesn't want to lose me. And this feels like a new kind of love, the kind that lets you crawl in next to a Voldemort wife at night. We're OLD and we have a new kind of love. Hmmm. I love Blake for returning home every day, where things are no longer normal or nice. I think there are men in the world who might not. When he's pushing drugs on me, or water, or walking, he's cheerful and positive. I don't like it but I'm glad he's pushing. He comes with me to chemo and sits there for two of his precious hours (a real sacrifice for Blake who doesn't sit). Would I have learned about this part of our love without cancer? Maybe not. Am I grateful for cancer then? Ummmm, no. But this kind of love is very good to know about.