The last time, we grieved together
In less than a week, I will see Rusty again. In less than a week, we will know if the new chemo drugs are working. It has been almost four months since the last set of bad news. If these next scans show significant progression, I don’t know what we will do next. I don’t think Rusty does, either. Will he quit his job? Will he go back to the US? Or will he come down to Singapore? What will I do?
I could hear it in his voice tonight. He is distracted, as I am. This is how it always is. The worry, the anxiety, the silence. Neither of us wanting to burden the other. So, we do not bring it up. I remember the first time he called with bad news from New York. It was our first set of scans that showed that the cancer had spread to his lungs.
I had been up the whole night, and when he finally called in the morning, I knew something was wrong. I broke down. I cried on the streets, at home, at work. I hid in the bathroom of a shopping mall. I slept very little, ate even less.
And when we finally reunited in Seoul a month later, we let ourselves grieve together. To think that was barely three months ago. Where will we be a week from now? What is coming? What?