I have often wondered why I had to nurse two family members through their fatal cancers. It certainly doesn’t feel fair. Then again, it certainly didn’t feel fair to my husband when he was diagnosed.

There was no way on God’s green earth that I wouldn’t have meltdown after meltdown after my husband’s illness began. After all, he received the same diagnosis that our little girl had been given: Three years. And so it began, the 3 plus years of Bob’s fight to live.

His diagnosis plunged me immediately into a deep and prolonged grief, for he could not live. I felt weak yet rageful with a God that would ask me to nurse another beloved family member.
I was to have no help at all, either.

How I stayed sane is a mystery, as chemo after chemo unfolded, me sitting beside a brave man who wanted to live. But he had no chance, no chance at all back then. Today, people are undergoing successful transplants if they get multiple myeloma. But Bob’s doctor told us that it would be best for us as a family not to go through all the dangers attendant on a transplant.We had been through so much already. This oncologist was a prince of a man and we were grateful to have him.

I was 57 when Bob was diagnosed and 62 when he died. (He was 63) The first Christmas was the hardest. Rob and I had no celebration and still don’t. We are alike in that respect. Neither of us enjoy extravagance on any level. Neither did Bob. But I am sure he looked down on us with pity as we floundered through the holiday hours and days.

Life returned to normal, but it is not the kind of life that most people live. It is devoid of hopes and dreams and is, instead, built on a deep understanding of how fragile human life is.

We have different schedules. Rob always worked the late shift and still gets up late. I am an early bird. We have an early evening meal and then he is off to cycle on the Silver Comet Trail. He loves being outdoors and I don’t. He is good at figuring out things I can’t understand.(I simply can’t read instructions on how to set up anything. I can’t even read maps.)

I go to bed early and he stays up late, so we each have our own private zones. More and more he is becoming my caregiver; there is no getting around that.

I started off wondering why two members of our family of four died. No answers will be given. All I know is that I became a writer and a few of you are glad I did.

Vicki Woodyard