Being the “Cape Holder”

Well, it’s been a while, my dear friends.

And there’s a reason.

Last month, at Chris’ appointment with his neuro-oncologist, we got some pretty scary, but unsure news.

They thought his tumor had returned with a vengeance.

They thought we were running out of time.

That’s why you haven’t heard from me. I’ve been holed up and scared witless for this day.

Today was the appointment for a repeat MRI and meeting with the oncologists to discuss “options” and “time”.

TIME

That thing that you never have enough of? That thing that you lose track of?

But, for me, it’s the one thing that I so desperately wanted.

Just to hear that we have more time.

So, today begins like any other day. The sun comes up and the birds sing and I open my eyes to the thought of losing him.

He goes for his MRI and comes back home to get me.

I’m almost ready and we get in the car. I’m chatty. Nervously chatty.

As I’m driving, I look at my watch. “OH NO…WE ARE LATE!”, I said. “No we’re not. I told you that the appointment was at 1 so we’d get there by 1:30. My appointment is actually then.” I had even written this date down on a pretty sticker in my EC planner. Highlighted and all. One O’clock!

And that is how much this man knows me…

So, we arrive. His mother is there and I’m glad to have some one to lean on.

We go up the familiar elevators and go check in with the nice ladies at the front desk. They are always so sweet to us. Maybe, they think Chris is cute.

And then it’s time to go back.

I wanted to faint and scream and laugh and run and skip and fall.

I didn’t know who I was or where I was going, but all of the sudden I knew what I was doing.

I was holding the cape.

You see, Chris is my superhero. My own personal Superman and my children’s own Superdad.

So, in that moment, when everything in me wanted to run, I stood behind him and held his cape.

He didn’t notice, but in my own way, I was letting him lead the way like the strong and amazing soul he is.

And he led us.

And we sat.

And finally the doctor appeared.

With a smile on her face.

“Your MRI looks great!” she exclaimed. “Much better!”

Chris’ mom and I look at each other in relief.

I look at Chris and see tears.

The doctor then goes about telling us that the mass that was there last time has shrunk significantly.

Y’all, significantly.

She pulls up the MRI pictures and there it was.

Or wasn’t.

It looked smaller, even to a lay person like me. You could see a HUGE difference.

The weight I’d been carrying for a month suddenly lifted and I knew I had it.

TIME.

The doctor says “This is the best MRI we’ve seen all week! I’m proud of you!”

And I was, too. Proud of that man, sitting in that chair, struggling to talk , but still smiling that gorgeous smile and being the part of my soul that God misplaced when I was born.

So, comes time to leave. And I let him lead the way. Me trailing behind, holding his cape. We aren’t out of the woods, nor will we ever really be. But, I just got a few more years with my Superman…

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