I stood at the greeting card display, searching for the perfect Christmas card for my husband. Beside me, a charismatic gentleman wearing a green and white striped stocking cap pulled card after card from the slots. “I am looking for a card for my wife and I just can’t seem to find one that fits,” he mumbled.
“I know what you mean,” I said. I was seriously considering the card I now held in my hand. It was lavished with sparkles and extravagant, swirling, romantic script. We made our choices and headed to the cash register, chatting about whether or not we would have snow in time for Christmas. I asked the gentleman how long he had been married. “Forty-three years,” he answered. “How about you?” he asked.
“Eighteen,” I said. I thought suddenly of our first Christmas together and the gift Dale had given me. In my hand, he placed a perfectly square, black velvet box. Curly ribbons of gold and silver spilled down from the box, lightly brushing against my wrist. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling; just like my heart. It was a ring. The stones were diamond and ruby marquis in a channel setting and the slope of the gems reminded me of a crown. “Is this for me?” I had asked. Dale smiled. “For you,” he said. “Just for you.”
I called my mom and my sister, squealing incoherently about my most perfect gift and the man who had given it to me. A year and a half later, he presented me with yet another ring; this time a solitary diamond that grows brighter with every passing year.
I must have fallen in and out of love a million times before I met Dale. The journey we share is not always perfect; it is not always rubies and diamonds and gold. There are not always stars in my eyes. How well I recall the evening we opened another square box; this one filled with Xeloda, a chemotherapy drug taken orally. My hand trembled that evening also, for I was about to begin a journey like no other.
I write frequently about the impact cancer has had on my life. Make no mistake about it, my friends, cancer is a frightening monster and a sinister foe. When I faced my mortality, I decided that under no circumstances would I let cancer win; not even to death. My knight in shining armor accompanied me every day to the Radiation Suite in Presque Isle, held my hand while I swore at the Universe, and assured me that my thinning hair would once again be healthy. Nearly every night, he would drive 50 miles to get the only food I could tolerate; KFC macaroni and cheese. Special shampoos, lotions, cushions, chocolate, and numerous other comfort items filled our pantry and closets. And through it all, I would glance down at the promise that circled my finger and ask myself why he was still here and still in love with me.
“You didn’t bargain for this,” I whispered to him late one night after a particularly difficult day.
“No,” he whispered back. “And neither did you.” I held back tears there in the darkness, my cheek against his shoulder. Cancer has found a place in our lives, bringing us to our knees and coating us with steel. Despite its vehement power, it is no match for love.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
