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Eric & Bill
by Sandra Perry
(Editor's note: This is
one of the winning entries in our April writing contest, Memories
with Energy. I posted it as I received it. The prompt
was to freewrite, and that means no correcting spelling mistakes, punctuation
or grammar.)
Eric was instrumental in my life from the
very beginning. He was full of life. He was energy personified. He was
so incredibly argumentative and hard-headed, but you couldn't help but
love him.
We'd been dating for about a year when he came out of remission. I was
devastated. How was I supposed to handle this? I was 20 years old and
in love with a guy with cancer. What was happening to me?
The irony of the whole situation was that Eric was the strong one. He
comforted me. He comforted his mother. We'd be falling apart and he'd
been just fine, cracking jokes with the nurses or ordering pizza for the
floor at the hospital.
I learned more about surgery and hospitals and medicine than I ever really
wanted to know. It's nearly impossible to gross me out now. I've seen
puke in every color they make. I stood with him through countless rounds
of chemo, surgery, even isolation. (Those plastic booties are very sexy,
you know.) I've empty emesis basins, dumped bed pains... no wonder I never
wanted to be a nurse!
Even with all the medical advancements I got to be witness to, the most
amazing part of the entire experience was watching Eric hold tight to
his faith. Never once did I ever see him waiver. I'm sure he probably
questioned some when he was alone, but never once did he become bitter
or angry because of what was going on with him. Just the opposite. He
was a beacon. People were drawn to him. But for the bald head, no one
would have guess that anything was wrong.
I'll never forget the day that Dr. Tauer told us that they'd done all
they could do. He was crying. I'd never seen a doctor cry before. Eric
was doped up on God knows what for pain and didn't really understand what
was happening. I cried with Eric's parents and we watched him sleep, not
knowing how long we'd have him with us. Later that evening when he slept
off the narcotic cocktail, his mother asked if he'd heard what Dr. Tauer
had said. When Eric found out he was dying and only had two to six months
to live, the first words out of his mouth were: "Poor Dr. Tauer. Is he
okay? I hate he had to tell me that."
They sent Eric home the next day to be more comfortable. I remember long
conversations with Eric telling me what he wanted done with his stuff
and just tying up loose ends in general. The night he died was bad for
him. He was in intense pain and needed a lot of drugs.
We were watching some stupid movie on TV when he looked at me and said,
"Please take care of Bill. He's going to take this really hard. You'll
need to be there for him."
I told him that I would.
He was silent for a long time. Then he said, "You know, the lights are
so pretty here."
I looked out the window and saw nothing but rain. I chalked it up to the
drugs.
Twenty minutes later, Eric was gone. That was nearly eleven years ago
and I can see, hear, taste and touch everything as if it was yesterday.
Oh, and Bill's okay. I married him nine years ago.
*
Read more of Sandra at her site, Scribbles
from the Singing Scribe!
*
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