I surprised him the night I arrived at the hospital in Jamaica. I didn’t tell him when I was coming. He was looking so strong and happy that night. And no lie, when I found out that someone had come and prayed with him earlier that evening, after which he was feeling so strong and upbeat, I was a little jealous. I was there thinking I had that effect on him. At that point, we didn’t know what was wrong. The doctor’s were still doing tests. So in my mind, I wasn’t even afraid. That evening I got the sense he was hiding something from me. It just seemed like he was talking in code with everyone else. I told him: “you better not be hiding anything from me.” He smiled, of course.
Later that evening when everyone left, he told me the whole story; well, sort of. He told me the doctors had suspected lymphoma, but they weren’t calling it that because they had to wait for some other results for confirmation. I still wasn’t sure what that meant. My mummy said of all the cancers he could have, that would have been a ‘good one’. So I was still calm. It was not until the final diagnosis came in, adenocarcinoma, that my mother said to me, I needed to prepare for the possibility that Steele would not be here next year. That hit me like such a rock. I never before pictured that. I had pictured so many other things: good and bad. I had a reoccurring nightmare about our wedding day. I know Steele hated to kiss in public so I always wondered what he would do on our wedding day.
Everyone kept telling me to be strong, not to cry. He never told me not to cry. He knew I was a ‘cry baby’. Funny enough, I feel like I’ve cried more before, like when I thought we were breaking up. I remember on one occasion, crying so much that even after I had slept and woken up, my eyes were extremely puffy and looked like hell. This time, I cried a lot, but I felt like I was on a mission. And I suppose this time, I wasn’t in control; he wasn’t in control, and I realised that God is not deterred from his plans by tears. This time, my mission was his peace of mind.
Turns out I only had one month left with him. When I was with him, I was never thinking about how much time I had left. I was always in the present moment: watching him, anticipating his movements, to see if he needed me to reach for the water, or the remote or the ‘vomit’ bucket’. I was conscious of the fact that I didn’t know if he was coming or going, but as each day was unfolding, I was completely unaware of what day it was on the countdown.
I still feel like he’s lost somewhere. Like if I could just figure out where to look, I could find him again. Like maybe after I finish my initial year at home I was planning, he will be there if I just go back to Jamaica. I keep wondering why he hasn’t called yet to let me know he’s okay, or to check on me.