I wish I could make it all better, make it go away. Or at least I wish I knew how to react-to comfort or release them from their pain, but I'm just a kid with only so many hours in the day and only so much patience. I hate to admit the truth-but I'm tired.
Some days are great, Dave and Phyllis or "Philly" laugh and reminisce about vacations to Las Vegas or tell stories about their children. But eventually even these days turn sour as Philly realizes those days are over and soon enough she'll have to remember for the both of them. Most days are a constant uphill battle of the reality that Dave has a death sentence. She busies herself with chores that are already done, bills that are already paid, and sends Kyle and I to get groceries for her already bulging cupboards. Philly always has a list of errands for me; walking her toy poodle two times a day has turned into four or five. Prescriptions need to be filled twice as often-meanwhile the full bottles stack up in the pantry. Cigarettes and Wendy's salads are always a daily necessity. Oh and forget sleeping before you make every bed in the house and rewash the laundry he only wore for an hour tops and passed out again from exhaustion.
She fills every ear that passes her with Dave's newest-yet expected-ailment. The mailman, the neighbor, the in-laws, the drive-through attendant, the doctors, and me. Another tumor, another blood clot, another prescription, a new type of radiation. Cigarettes and salad.
They burst into tears and plan how she will live once he's turned to ashes. So morbid and I have run out of things to say. I guiltily sit on their sofa in a cloud of cigarette smoke and blue cheese dressing in complete uncertainty of what to say. I'm sorry? I'll pray for you? It'll be ok? Nope.
I've never seen two people so in love and so desperate to have one more day-even if it's all just doctors appointments and chemo.
I wish cancer would get cancer and die!
