The Guest House

 

by Glenda Reynolds

 

The guest house was bone cold that I found myself banished to. It had stayed empty for years since no one ever came to visit. It had seen better days and needed tender loving care, just like me. These were my thoughts as I brushed the cobwebs from the door knocker with one hand and carried my suitcase with the other. When the door creaked open, I was disappointed to see that a leak in the roof had caused ugly brown stains on the white ceiling. Dead flies littered the window sills. Faded curtains framed the glass patio doors that provided a view of an overgrown and weedy garden. Was I really here of my own free will or that of my husband’s? That day seemed like a life time ago, but it was only a year  ago.

I’ll never forget that day when my doctor called me and asked me to come into his office with my husband Steven. Dr. Hopkins gave us the news that I had breast cancer. The doctor explained my options for care which included an operation, chemo and prescription drugs. Luckily I had health coverage through my husband’s employer. After my mastectomy, I began the difficult journey of chemotherapy as we monitored my digestive system. During this time, my relationship with Steven changed for the worse. He spent less and less time with me; he also worked longer hours. He treated me like something that couldn’t be fixed. Did thirty years of marriage mean nothing to him? Did he have his eyes on a younger, healthier woman?

I came home from a doctor’s visit to find an envelope on the kitchen counter with $400.00 in it. There was a note that read, “Here’s money for gas and groceries”. There was no signature, but I knew it was from Steven. How generous of him – not really – since he makes over $50,000.00 a year. He also set up a four foot Christmas tree near the fireplace.

“Ya, thanks a lot!” I said to myself sarcastically. I ignored the tree for days since I wasn’t in the Christmas mood at all. The little pine tree eventually died.

So was I inside and out.

How could something so good – my life and my marriage – just fall apart now? I was supposed to grow old with my husband. I was like a ghost who peered out of the windows from a forgotten guest house. Hopelessness gripped me in her ugly claws. I cried myself to sleep many nights. My mother left me voicemails that I didn’t return.  

As I laid in bed under a mountain of blankets, I stared at the bottles of pills on the night stand as I contemplated taking them all and ending my existence. I wasn’t quite to that point yet for whatever reason. Was it because I was afraid of what lay in store for me when my heart stopped beating? Could I end up in a darker place than I was in now? The truth was I still clung to the notion that I still loved my husband and perhaps he still loved me.

Dr. Hopkins finally asked me why Steven stopped coming with me on my doctor’s visits. I told him that Steven and I were separated. Dr. Hopkins knew that an important key to defeating cancer was to have hope and a positive mental outlook. He introduced me to a patient of his. Carrie was a cancer survivor and had since had two children. She also had a mastectomy and had undergone the same treatment as I was having. Yes, this planted a seed of hope in me. Carrie’s smile was vibrant and her red hair framed her beautiful face. She was living in her piece of heaven. A slight emotion of envy came over me.

My cancer treatments were taking their toll on me. I seemed to be dizzy a lot and I didn’t have much of an appetite. The guest house stayed dark for days with only nightlights on throughout. I had nothing but the four walls of the bedroom as I laid in a weakened condition. One bitter cold evening, I heard the front door creak open. My eyes flew open as I cursed softly for forgetting to lock the door. I raised myself up against the headboard. Heavy footprints could be heard making their way to the bedroom. The light from a flashlight shown as it settled on me.

“So it won’t be the pills that put an end to me,” I thought in my fog of fear.

“Beth, I was worried about you. I haven’t seen you in days,” Steven said.

“I’m okay. Just leave me alone.”

“No, honey. There’s something I have to say.” He fell to his knees beside the bed. I flipped on the lamp on my night stand. Emotion gripped Steven as he struggled to find the words. “I want to say that I’m sorry for not being here when you’ve needed me the most. I’ve been a terrible husband.” There was a long pause. Tears streamed down both of our faces. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

I was stubborn. Was I willing to forgive and go back to the familiar home that we shared for the past thirty years? And here I was, an old lady with graying, messy hair, yesterday’s mascara smudging my eyes, and wearing a T-shirt with holes. And fighting cancer.

“I don’t feel like I’m worth anything.”

“You are the world to me. You are my life and my love.”

“You don’t have a pretty little thing on the side that you’re spending time with?” I asked as I studied his face.

“Woman, my heart has always belonged to you. I admit that I was afraid of losing you. But I think that you can beat this thing. If you’ll let me, and by the grace of God, I want to be by your side through this journey.”

Without waiting for an answer, he gathered me in his arms and carried me back to our house, to the familiar warm bed. He lay beside me with his arm around me all night long. It was like a spring thaw on the ice of my heart.

I made a full recovery of my health and my marriage. As for the guest house, we decided to make repairs to it and save the back garden. After all, it was a project of love. It was where we found each other again to continue the journey of life. God is good.