The Top of the Hill

Today was brutal.

After months

of doctor’s appointments

trying to understand

your back pain

the doctor finally had an answer.

It wasn’t overdoing it

on the tennis court.

It wasn’t hemorrhoids.

It was cancer.

Stage IV lung cancer.

How could this possibly be real?

You were just 49 years old.

Otherwise healthy.

Never smoked.

Thin.

Active.

No other health issues.

And if lung cancer wasn’t enough

the monster had already

invaded your bones.

We sat

in our dark blue SUV

parked in front of our house

at the top of the hill.

For hours.

Silent.

Earlier that day

the call came.

You picked me up from work

and we drove around

not knowing what else to do.

We tried

to do normal things.

Groceries.

Gas.

We left the market

with a partially filled cart.

A package of spaghetti.

Bell peppers.

Rice Chex.

Milk.

Abandoned

in the cart

with the squeaky wheels.

We pulled into the gas station

and forgot

how to pump gas.

We sat there

staring at the pump

like we had been dropped

into another world.

All we could do

was go home.

But we couldn’t

go inside the house.

So we sat.

The sun

long set.

At the top

of the hill.

Our minds

erased

of words.

Images

snapped through my mind

like a photographer

on a shoot.

I saw the illness progress.

I saw you grow weaker

and die.

I saw myself

alone.

Who would I become?

You in the driver’s seat.

Me in the passenger.

We stayed

face forward

watching the flickering lights

on the bridge

in the distance.

The view was beautiful.

Offering no indication

that death

would replace it.

For a moment

I imagined

if we could just stay there

in the SUV

watching the lights

we could stop time.

Then you wouldn’t have to go through

radiation,

chemotherapy,

surgery,

weakness,

and death.

That night

sitting in the SUV

at the top of the hill

I thought

it was the worst night

of my life.

Now

I look back

and see it

as a moment

that belonged

only to you and me.

The before.

Before

you declined

Before

you went through pain

with such bravery

Before

you told me

not to dwell on the future

when I still had you

right here with me

Before

you died

Before

I lived without you

When I close my eyes

you and I

are sitting

in the SUV

at the top of the hill.

That worst day

is now

the best day

in my mind.

Because

you are still here.

BIO

Carol Ornstein is a lover of life and seeks to see the unseen through words, photography, and nature. She can be found helping the underdog and writing poetry about everything and nothing.