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.
