Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Astrid slays me with her brave face.
“Why don’t you go upstairs while I clean up the mess? I don’t want you getting any glass in your feet.” I run my fingers along the bottom of her bare feet.
“Stop!” She giggles and squirms.
I lift her off the counter and carry her to the steps. When she’s halfway to the top, she turns. “Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think when people die, they can miss other people? If you die, will you miss me and Mom?”
The lump in my throat nearly suffocates me. I can’t fucking speak, so I find a believable smile and nod.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
JUST SURRENDER WITH ME.
The second opinion confirms the first.
My wife pleads her chemo case again.
I can’t do it.
The pain gets worse. I get worse.
But I keep reading. And if I can’t keep my eyes open to follow words on a page, I listen to the audiobook.
While Astrid’s at school, I try to meditate, but it’s hard to do it when Amelia refuses to leave my side. Her fear and worry feel as debilitating as the cancer.
I try to eat foods that help fight cancer.
Amelia makes my “favorites,” so I try to eat them to make her feel better.
I turn into a robot, a sick robot, trying to please my wife and daughter. The two people I love most have become my biggest obstacle to getting better. And I believe I can beat this.
Fuck the odds.
Modern medicine can’t predict or control the most important component of life.
One’s mind.
The spirit within.
Thoughts are powerful.
I believe they are the most powerful force in the world. They control actions and reactions on every level of human existence.
Mind over matter isn’t a mere cliché. It’s the secret to life, but it shouldn’t be a secret. Humans have a knack for overcomplicating everything. The simple answer is usually the right one.
“Seeing you like this is killing me,” Amelia whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving.
I peel open my eyes. The pain comes and goes in unpredictable waves.
“I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well,” I mumble. “Just let me sleep, and I’ll be fine when she gets home from school.”
“Your mom said there’s a doctor in Boston who’s seen some success with a new drug for pancreatic cancer.”
“Stage four?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s worth looking into, don’t you?”
“No.” I roll in the opposite direction because my back is as stiff as can be.
She climbs into bed, lying on her side to face me.
“You are the love of my life,” she whispers.
I find a smile. “And you are mine.”
“I feel helpless.”
“Then surrender,” I murmur.
“What does that mean?”
“Stop trying to control this outcome.”
“I can’t.” Her forehead wrinkles.
I know she can’t. I’d feel the same way if she were the one with cancer. Our love is big. All-consuming. And it’s bright—a blinding kind of love that makes it impossible to see what needs to be done. And it’s literally killing me.
“You’re the quirkiest, funniest, and kindest person I have ever known.” I rest my hand on her cheek. “Nothing we’ve ever done has been anything less than earth-shattering.”
She grins. “I hit you with my car.”
“You did.”
“The tire on our getaway car after the wedding blew out, and we landed in the ditch.” She giggles. It’s been too long since she’s laughed.
“Astrid was born in the car a mile from the hospital,” I say.
She slowly nods.
“Baby, just don’t let me get in a car, and I’ll live forever.”
“Done,” she whispers, leaning toward me and kissing my forehead.
“You can go do something. Just let me rest,” I mumble.
“I can’t leave you.”
I know you can’t, sweetheart. So I’ll do it for you. I’ll do it for us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE PERFECT TRAGEDY.
Scottie
“How do you do it?” I murmur, ghosting my finger over the lid to Price’s record player after he pauses and takes a long breath.
A woman named Amelia has his child and his heart.
It’s perfect. And tragic.
“Do what?”
“How do you show up in my life after no word from you for twelve years and look at me like you never stopped loving me? Yet you fell in love with a woman who ran you over, and you have a child … a whole life with her.”
“I guess I’m lucky in love but not in life.”
I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, and a spiral-bound notebook catches my attention. “Are you journaling?”
“Sort of. Among other things.”
“Other things?” I hug my knees to my chest.
A wry grin settles on his lips. “Have a look.” He nods to the notebook.
“You want me to read your journal?”
“I don’t care if you read it. It’s basically a hard-to-follow story of my marriage interwoven with my mental shift since my diagnosis. But that’s not what I want you to see.”
I lower my feet to the ground and slowly reach for the journal.