even if i am. (31 page)

Laura thought for a second, saw my disappointment and my tears and then started. Slow at first, then loud enough for everyone to hear. “Daa na na na, daa na na naaah…” I was instantly laughing mixed with crying and could hear your parents and then you and hospice, maybe Gladys too, singing the wedding march. I walked slowly from the bathroom through the hallway across the living room and into the bedroom. I was holding my dad’s hand in the form of red roses. He felt close enough to touch. My mother’s whisper in my ear. Gladys was prancing and snorting with all the excitement of singing, and skipped alongside.

We entered the room, I couldn’t take my eyes off yours. I’m sorry I was such a puddle, but you were, too. We all were. Your mother, hospice, Laura… Even your stepfather’s shirt was wet around the neck. “Good God, we’re all a mess,” I said as we chuckled, wiping tears with wet sleeves. I couldn’t resist leaning in to nestle your nose. Your hand grabbed the back of my head, pulling me closer, not letting go, as Laura began.

“We are gathered on this beautiful afternoon to share in everlasting love…”

As she continued the ceremony you sneaked in little whispers, little cuddles. “You are beautiful. The most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I am the luckiest man in the world.” Laura continued the tradition as my tears mixed with yours in between nestling noses. “I hope you know just how much I love you.” You spoke in a steady, soft stream of words. “I love you. I love you so much.”

I could only get out the words. “I love…”

Laura stopped midway through the ceremony and said, “You know you guys can’t kiss yet, right?”

We both snickered. You said, “We haven’t, but I want to.”

“First, let’s get through the vows. Are you ready?” We both nodded. “Do you Anthony Rigby Glass take Chasity Rae…”

You remained so present, so happy. I loved the way you said “I do.” I loved the way you smiled when I did.

I knew our marriage would be brief and end in sorrow. I knew the timeline. I knew it well. But, seeing you emotionally naked and fragile in your illness, all I could think of was love. Infinite love — immeasurable love — vast, immense, glorious, fat love, the kind of love you search for your entire life. The kind of love that never dies. The kind of love that surrounds you, fills you, completes you. The kind of love that kills cancer.

Laura later described our matrimony as an extraordinary witness of such love, of amazing courage and personal sacrifice. While stumbling over my vows, my mind prayed to Poppy, “Please don’t take him from me. Please don’t take him. Take me, instead.” I somehow thought with a Reverend standing across from me, my prayers would finally be heard. I used her to help me talk to God. Used her to help me save you. Surely God saw how happy we were. That your love was safe with me.

“You may kiss the bride.”

“You may kiss the bride.”

…

We should have taken more photographs. Fourteen total. That’s all we took. We were too busy hugging and crying, and I think we clapped after your stepfather gave a heartfelt speech on marriage. I only remember because there is a photo of it, of us clapping. There were laughs on lips and teeth, smiles and Kleenex. Gladys sat at your bedside. I love looking through the fourteen photos. Reminding myself of the moments, I can still hear your mother’s wonderment when you asked Laura to continue the ceremony.

“I’m ready,” you stated to Laura as she nodded in agreement. I took a photograph.

She requested that your mother and stepfather each grab a hand of yours to hold. I stood at the foot of the bed.

She began, “Blessed is the child of light who is pure in heart, for that person shall see God. For as the heavenly Father has given you, Anthony, his Holy Spirit, and your earthly mother has given you her holy body…” Suddenly I saw your mother’s understanding in the way she held your hand securely, in the way she began to weep. Baptism was a sacrament she never did with you as a child, something she regretted, something that meant a great deal to her in her own faith. You knew the significance of the ritual. You knew what the rite meant to her. You needed her to know that you were unhurt and now safe with God. That she did fix you — she saved you because she loved you.

The ceremony was short, effortless and untouched. You never took your eyes off your mother’s adoring silent sentiments. She marked a cross on your forehead in holy oil as you closed your eyes receiving the prayer with a euphoric welcome.

“Baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Amen. I took another photo.

…

My heart felt as if it might break through my bones, rip out of my chest and land in your lap, offering itself to you wholly, thanking you for you. My heart wanted to go with you wherever you went. It wanted to find a home in the pocket of your pink shirt. Become a neighbor to your heart. You could knock on my heart’s door and borrow a cup of sugar to make sweet tea. We could sip that tea and discuss our day.

I felt it most when I watched you sleep. I couldn’t imagine that you were comfortable, curled up in your wedding clothes, though you appeared to be. Your breath, slow and irregular, told me more than words could. It sounded like there was foam in the back of your throat. I swallowed. I assumed it was the higher dose of pain medication you were now on. I tried to give you a drink, but you were too sleepy to wake. Instead you smiled at something happy, wrapped in dream I would never see. I wished I could crawl into it with you, where hearts beat and pulses rise and hopes are high. I tucked the inch of overgrown hairs behind your ear, noticing the beads of perspiration shining alongside the oiled cross on your forehead. Your hand still a tight fist on your chest. Your wedding ring two sizes too big, in danger of slipping off. You were still grinning, fast asleep clutching your wedding ring hand placed perfectly on your chest to keep it safe.

I snuggled into the twin bed and alongside your warm body. I couldn’t resist you a moment more. “Hello, husband,” I muttered to the side of your neck.

You reached for my arm to pull me closer. “I just had the most amazing dream.”

“You did? What did you dream?”

“I dreamt I married an angel.” You held up your fist, still tight, ring still on. I leaned in and brushed your shoulder with my lips, then gently curled up closer, resting my arm across your chest and whispered. “I love you, hubby.”

“I love you more, wifey.”

…

We invited twelve people to our wedding reception, and twelve came. I thought you could spend some time with Jane, Zach and Jay before the party started. They hadn’t seen you in weeks, if not months. I never asked if you wanted a reception — I told you. That’s what spouses do.

As guests arrived they congratulated your parents and hugged me hello then asked to see you. We knew most of your friends would be overwhelmed by your appearance. I knew I needed to prepare them.

“I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen Anthony, but there are some things I need to tell you first.” I told them that you had lost a bit of weight. When you closed your eyes to sleep, they didn’t shut fully. Your skin and eyes were yellow. That today, after the ceremony, you were on oxygen and a stronger dose of pain medication. I told them that you were frail, but absolutely coherent and that you would do your very best to whisper something back.

I woke you from your nap. “Hey, babe, Jane is here to see you.”

You smiled the second you saw her. I wanted to give her private time to share with you and tell you everything she needed to say.

She gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Hello.”

After a few minutes with Jane, I went to check on the two of you. Your expressions were timid, trying to stay awake. “Jane, can you help us out in the kitchen?”

“Absolutely.” She was upset but remained collected.

“Sorry, babe, but you have to share your time. Jay is here now. Would you like to say hi?”

…

I prepped every friend, then left the room, helping in the kitchen, greeting more guests. I would return after a few minutes passed to make sure your energy was holding up, that you were drinking your Ensure, that you didn’t need help to go to the bathroom. You were getting worn out, even after the first visit. You and I guessed it was going to be emotional for your friends. You were going to be as hopeful and as cheerful as you could. Yet, I don’t think we really factored in how equally emotional it would be for you, or how tiresome. Jay’s visit was the most affecting. I prepped him. Left the room, then came back after ten minutes.

When I entered and you mumbled to Jay, “Jaybone, I love you. It’s going to be okay.” Jay left the room, and you began to cry. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“I know.” I rubbed my nose in your hair. “I know.”

“Thank you.” You grabbed my arm tightly, not wanting me to leave your side, “Wife.”

Bill and Sam entered the room with their new baby girl, Dakota, maybe a couple months old. You held up your fist and said, “I’m a spouse. Maybe I’ll be father someday, too.” Dakota was the first to giggle. Your eyes lit when you heard her.

I slipped out of the room and eavesdropped on Jane and Jay in the kitchen. “I can’t believe Glassanova got married,” Jane said. I poured myself a drink and pretended I didn’t hear.

I remember telling everyone the story of your proposal, of your parents as waitstaff, and the food. I remember posing for a picture. You weren’t in it. We were toasting our wedding day. Your parents and I thought it best to let you rest while we cheered with the other guests. Someone gave a speech — your mother maybe. I just remember fighting back tears, but smiling, a nothing-held-back kind of one. I wanted to crumble now, in front of them. I didn’t. Instead, I raised my glass, ate grocery store chocolate cake. Nothing fancy or prepared for the event, a generic chocolate cake with white frosting roses on top. I saved you a bite, one with fudge in the middle. Chocolate cake and ice cream, fat love in a bite.

You stayed in bed as guests filed out begrudgingly, wanted to say goodbye one last time. No one wanted to leave. They would have stayed all night if given the chance.

…

I unpinned your corsage, placed it gently on the nightstand as you looked at me with love. “It should be forever,” you told me in barely a whisper, harmonizing over the oxygen filling tubes. “God told me…”

“A — ” was all I could voice before the tears came, wetting the words. I could not speak. A simple I love you seemed perfect on our wedding night, yet I couldn’t even say your name. Instead I brought my cheek to yours, nestled and kissed your earlobe. Our lashes intertwined as the oxygen tube, soft and cold, nuzzled between. The world stood still in our house, in our bed, in our burrowed expressions. It should be forever, and it was. We lived in our forever with kisses, and tears, and the right-then.

“Promise me you’ll be okay when I’m gone,” you said as my cheek brushed against your lips.

“I promise,” I lied.

…

“I think you should sleep in the room with us tonight,” I said to your mother.

“But it’s your wedding night.”

“I know… I know. It’s just…” I paused. I searched for the right words, but none seemed fitting so I just blurted sentences. “Anthony’s lived his life fully today. He married his love. He got to see his friends and say goodbye. He got to hear their love for him and share his own. He’s the happiest he will ever be. He wants you there. He wants his mother at his bedside tonight. He wants to share his love. Share his peace.”

“I’d be honored to share this night with you.”

…

I remember it well. There was sleep in your eyes. Time stopped moving. Your mother and I took turns watching you sleep throughout the night. One of us would sit at your bedside while the other would try to get some rest. There was one part of the night when you started talking and yelling or arguing to someone else in the room. Someone behind the walls, behind the streets, towns, and states, behind the stars. I couldn’t understand what you were saying. I took your hand in mine and pushed the play button on your pain medication. I wet your lips with a mint flavored sponge. Hospice came into the room and Gladys, too. She barked, startling us, seeming really upset. Staring in the same direction you were.

I yelled at her, “Gladys, go lay down!”

She did something strange. She laid at the foot of the doorway to our bedroom, a place she had never rested before, and kept guard. Like she knew someone else was in the room. Maybe I’m crazy. You always said I was a little crazy at times but there was this amazing mystical way of the room. The energy shifted and changed. Goosebumps and hairs standing on end. Someone was there communicating with you and you seemed upset with him.