The Writers' Circle

His chest heaved as he brought up the tobacco laden phlegm. He thought he saw a couple of drops of blood, but decided against kneeling down to investigate. The pain was enormous. He walked up the street. Again, he bent over and succumbed to a racking cough. His heart pounded and what little was left of his blackened lungs produced more phlegm. There were undeniable traces of blood in it this time.

He saw the bench outside the barbershop and steered himself in its direction. His shoulders were slumped and his body was in savage pain. He sat down and began to feel a little better. He watched the procession of cars moving up Main Street. Bill Sanders walked by, said hello, and asked how he was doing. Jim returned the hello, but refused to comment on his health.

Only a short while ago, Jim had been a fit fifty eight-year-old man. He began to have pains in his chest a little over a year ago and at the urging of his wife, went to his family physician. They ran a battery of tests and found that he was in an advanced stage of lung cancer. The doctor talked about chemotherapy but said it would only prolong his life by a few months. After quickly weighing his options, Jim adamantly refused the chemo. His wife was shocked by his split second decision, but Jim explained he would go out on his own terms.

Not seeing any point in quitting he lit another cigarette and sat down on the bench. He started to cough and was unable to stifle it. He could no longer take deep drags but had to take small puffs and inhale very little. He sat there, a shadow of the man he used to be. His hair was white and thinning and his body looked frail. Once his face had brimmed with confidence, but now it was filled with despair.

He butted the cigarette and stood. Two long blocks to the war memorial with no place to sit until he got there. He was on a mission. He wanted to see his son's name for perhaps the last time. The town had eulogized all the residents who during war were killed in action. There were new names added from time to time, and occasionally a fresh slab of granite to honor the newly fallen. But Jim knew just where to look. The third stone from the left bore the name of his son - Lance Corporal James Campbell Jr. Killed in action November 3, 1990.

As he slowly made his way up the street, he realized he should have let Naomi bring him. He wanted to come by himself on his own two legs, if only to feel a bit more normal. But this did not feel normal. He pressed his back against the brick wall of the hardware store, bent over and stretched his arms out to his knees to support his upper body. He was almost too winded to carry on. Looking up the street, he grimaced. One more block before he would be at the memorial. Once he got there, he would make himself comfortable on the granite bench that matched the stones. He slowly brought himself to an upright position and headed towards the memorial. No, there was nothing normal about this at all.

When he reached the memorial, he sat down on a bench that would give him a good vantage point of his son's name. He stared at the name for a longtime. At first the tears came slowly, but they soon became a torrent. He did not know who he was crying for, himself, his son, or Naomi. Probably he was crying for them all. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blotted his eyes. When he was through, he blew his nose long and hard, folded the receptacle and returned it to his pocket. Lighting a cigarette, he gazed at his son's name a little longer. Suddenly stamping the cigarette out, he prepared himself for the long journey home. Standing up, his body bent, he made his way to the gate.

He heard Naomi call out, "Hey good lookin' - you need a ride home?"

He looked up from the sidewalk to see his wife leaning against the passenger side of their pick up truck. "How did you know I was here?" he asked. 

"I followed you of course."

He slowly made his way to the truck. She turned and opened the door for him. "You're an angel." he said.

"I know," she quipped, "now get in." He sat down slowly and once he closed the door, she sashayed in front of the truck making sure he saw her. He smiled as she went by. She was twelve years younger than him. She still had her blonde hair and had taken to wearing it shoulder length. She opened the door and took her place in the driver's seat. She looked over and smiled and he knew why he became smitten with her from the moment he first saw her. He thought how beautiful she was. She had a perfect smile as if an artist had etched it into place. Her lips were full and soft and her nose straight and even. Her eyes were magnificent, as gorgeous as the finest emeralds in the world. He looked at her and said, "Drive woman."

"Yes sir." she said.

They drove home in relative silence. He occasionally caught himself gasping for breath. She noticed this but said nothing. He could not help but think how much he loved her and what a fortunate man he was. There had been rough patches in their marriage, but what marriage is perfect? By far, the worst time was when Jimmy died during the first Gulf War. They grieved deeply and both had gone through bouts of depression. Arguments started and increased in intensity until they had even talked of divorce. They both started to come out of their funk at that point, and he knew that losing her would be the worst thing that could happen to him. After many discussions, they realized that they were still very much in love and that solidified an even deeper bond. Since then, their marriage had been carved in granite just as their son's name was.

Jim was scared of dying. He did not want to be without Naomi, nor did he want to leave her alone. She would be OK financially and he was sure she would find another, but he was also sure that the feelings would not be as strong.

"We're home." she said.

He looked up and saw the house that sat before them - a New England saltbox sided in cedar. Simple on the outside but lovingly decorated inside. The furnishings were mostly Arts and Crafts with the odd modern piece thrown in. Naomi had made a beautiful garden. It was lush with many varieties of plants from front to back. They both loved the house. Although it was a large house, it had a very comfortable feel. It was the type of home that made you think of it as an extension of the family.

The garage door opened and Jim noticed the light on the track was not working. He made a mental note that he would need to change it and then smiled at the futility of that. They walked into the kitchen and it smelled of cinnamon bread. Jim found the smell intoxicating. He took in a deep breath and immediately started coughing. He fell to his knees, trembling. This time there was a combination of blood, phlegm, and bile. "Oh my God - are you alright." Naomi cried out.

He continued to cough but the spasms were easing up. "Let me get you to the sofa." she said. He let her help him up and they walked slowly towards the sofa. He sat down - her next to him. She grabbed his hand and cradled it. "Why didn't you get chemo?" a question she had never asked before.

"What was the point? The doctor said I would only gain a few months. Why go through the sickness chemo would bring?"

"Because it would have been a few more months we could have spent together." she said, saddened.

He only nodded. The truth is he did not want to burden her any longer than necessary. But he also knew there was truth in what he just said. He had much to live for but not at the mercy of the doctors. The tubes and needles of chemo were not an option. He knew the time was coming soon and it was only a matter of weeks before he would be in the hospital awaiting death. He had to make these few moments he had left, last a lifetime.

Neither of them had much of an appetite. Jim had a piece of cinnamon bread, but that was all he could manage. They did not speak during dinner. They only looked at each other with sad eyes.

Jim was tired and wanted to retire early. Naomi followed him into the bedroom as she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. He pulled her close and they held each other tightly. He lifted his head and placed his lips next to her ear. He quietly said, "I love you." She lifted her head and nuzzled her ear against his lips. At that moment he thought himself to be the luckiest man alive.