Letter to My Husband
by Connie Wolf
Hey Sweetheart, I really hate to tell you this but, I have no choice, I'm going to have to sue you for breach of contract. We had a deal, I'm the one that's older and I get to die first. I'm the one that was always going to the doctor's, always taking pills; you were the healthy one, the strong silent type. You see, here's the deal: I wash your socks, pack your lunch, make you laugh, keep you warm on winter nights, and in return I get to die first.
I'm sorry but this whole cancer thing is just wrong. First in your eye and then in your kidney?? They don't have walk-a-thons for that, they don't have telethons for Choroidal Melanoma, and they don't wear pink or blue or red ribbons. Didn't someone tell us that it was a one in million chance of getting this form of cancer? I've always thought you were a one in a million kind of guy, my one in a million. Not cancer's one in a million.
I've got news for them! You're going to beat those rotten odds, we'll show them who's one in a million. You will live, you will be well. I will die first and save a special place for you at the Master's table. When your time really comes (and Dr. Doom the oncologist has no idea when that is), my spirit will be with you, whispering in your ear, telling you it's time, it's time to come and spend eternity with me. But until then you do not get to die. I'm just going to have to put my foot down about this!
When I fell in love with you almost thirty years ago, we could talk for hours and never tire, we could eat a dozen donuts and never gain a pound, we could make love far into the night and turn to each other again at first morning's light. 30 years ago we drank champagne and never gave acid reflux a thought, 30 years ago we danced all night in tight shoes and could still walk the next day, 30 years ago your hair was thick and golden and I wore a size ten. 30 years ago we fell in love or so we thought.
We didn't know then what love was, we didn't have a clue.
What we had was passion, it was entertaining, it was even friendship but it wasn't yet love.
It wasn't love until we took care of each other through endless colds, flues, and toothaches. It wasn't love until we stretched the budget, paid cash for our first new car and paid off the mortgage together. It wasn't love until we raised a child together and watched her walk away.
In Fiddler on the Roof, Golde sings, "Do I love him? For twenty-five years I've lived with him Fought him, starved with him Twenty-five years my bed is his If that's not love, what is?"
Do I Love You? Oh Jon don't you know I do. If God would only take my eye, my kidney, my life. I would give up everything for you, my family, my country, my friends, and the very air I breathe. Do I Love You? Yes, I suppose I do.
Connie lives with her husband in Southern California where she takes writing classes and contributes a monthly column to her community newspaper. Her writing was included in a dramatic review titled, "The Art of Remembering," at the Muckenthaler Cultural Center in Fullerton, California.