My illness was her pain

The following Saturday, after “crack rumor” week, was a mandatory work day. Forced overtime, the company called it. The money’s good, but I’d rather have slept in.

That commute was the longest 65 miles of solitude I ever drove.

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I awoke on the daybed and climbed, or rather rolled off onto the floor. By now I was in pain and stiff all the time. I showered, dressed, went to the door, looked back at my wife and was about to say , “see ya tonight.”

I froze in my steps and asked, “What’s up honey? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She said, “Nothing,” and gave me a slightly tighter hug than I normally got before I left for work. I tried to joke, “Oh no! Not the nothing!” She didn’t smile.

I couldn’t read the look on her face as she handed me my jacket and said, “See you tonight, be careful.” It wasn’t like she was frightened. She wasn’t crying, frowning or anything I could put my finger on.

Then it dawned on me. Her look said she was resigned to the possibility, or maybe even convinced, that I wasn’t going to be around

much longer. I have to admit I’d felt the same at times and had dealt with a ton of despair, but had to keep positive.

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I said, “It’ll be alright. I’ll beat this. I promise.”

Problem was, I had another promise to keep. I was nowhere near 110 years old, and I’d promised my six-year-old self that I’d live at least that long.

I’ve never been a quitter and wasn’t about to give up, but I was exhausted with being ill.

Honestly, looking back, that day began as the lowest point in my life, before or since. That was when I realized how taxing this whole thing was on my wife. She was a trooper but it was wearing on her.

I was emotional all the way to work. One minute laughing at fate, that I’d be leaving my family behind. The next minute, crying, the next, pissed.

Fellow commuters, if they happened to glance my way would have thought I’d lost it. And I did for a while. Hell, I deserved to lose it.

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I must have ticked off one mini-van-mama in particular, because she pulled alongside me one mile from entering the tunnel and stopped applying eye-liner long enough to give me the middle finger salute.

I think she thought I was shaking my fist at her, when I was railing at my circumstances.

See Part 6. That’s What Friends Are For

See 8. The trip home was better.

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“Good Health and Success are a Lifestyle . . . Live Well,”

CK Dillon

Contact: Charles@CreateVitality.Com

On the Web: Http://CreateVitality.Com

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