I’ve gone through just about every emotion imaginable—anger, denial, depression, anxiety, hopelessness, sorrow. I’m currently in the acceptance phase. I’ve come to realize that those ugly emotions are useless and only make me feel worse. I don’t need to waste my time on them. Not when my time is very limited, and I want to spend the rest of it as happy as I can be with my family. I still have my moments, but for the most part, I’ve learned to push the negative thoughts away.
Knowing it’s going to bug me until I know what happened, I take in a deep breath for courage and flip to the next page. My heart pitter-patters when I notice it’s still Clara’s handwriting. That’s got to be a good sign, right?
It’s taken me a little while to write this entry. I’ve been so tired since the surgery and I haven’t felt up to doing much. The doctors say the surgery went well and they believe they got all of the cancerous cells out. I pray they are right. It feels weird not having both of my breasts. It’s like a vital part of me is missing, and I guess it is. I’ve become very self-conscious to wear anything that may show I’m not whole anymore. Any tops I wear are loose-fitting. At first Charles didn’t say anything, but he asked me the other night why. Reluctantly, I told him about my insecurities. He understood but explained that there’s no reason for me to be insecure about my body now. That he’d love me no matter how I looked. Even if I had no breasts at all. I believe him, because that’s the kind of love we have, but I still hate it.
The kids have stopped by to check on me nonstop. I love being with them. They distract me from all the negative thoughts. The doctors may have gotten all of the cancerous cells. Or they may not have. With the type of breast cancer I have, the doctors want me to do chemotherapy as well. I start that next week. So, I not only lost a breast, but I’m also going to lose my hair. I know I shouldn’t be vain. Things are much worse for some women, but sometimes it’s hard to stay positive. I try my best, though, for Charles.
For the next hour, while Gemma finishes her movie, I read entry after entry, getting engrossed in Clara’s words. Over the course of the next year, Clara did chemotherapy and radiation, lost her hair, fought to stay strong, and overcame a huge obstacle. Throughout it all, Charles was there every step of the way. Giving her support, comfort, and strength when she needed it. One of their other children became pregnant and had a baby. The baby boy, Michael, was their third grandchild. Clara was too weak at the time for her to be present during the birth, something she cried over, but the moment she saw the baby, once they came for a visit, she fell immediately in love.
I actually had tears in my eyes when I read that her doctors told her the cancer was gone. She beat the deadly beast, as she put it. I found the term appropriate. She’s had some other problems pop up though. The doctors say it’s from the harsh treatments of chemo and radiation. It’s ravaged her body, and it’ll take time, possibly years, before she feels a semblance of normal again.
I don’t know how Clara and Charles’ story turns out, but I’m glad it wasn’t cancer that ended it.
Charles and I walked on the beach last night. It was the first time since I started treatment for my cancer eighteen months ago that I felt really good. My joints didn’t ache, my feet weren’t swollen, and my mind was clear. I’m sure I was just having a good day and the pains will be back, but I was grateful it was last night that my body didn’t betray me. It was our thirty-third wedding anniversary.
As I write this, I can’t keep the smile off my face, or the blush from my cheeks. Charles made our night so special. He sectioned off part of the beach with a rope and made us a picnic. It was dark out and there was a beachy breeze, but he managed to have candles put into deep clear glasses surrounding the blanket lined with different types of picnic foods. We ate, then made love right there on the beach. It felt so incredible that I wanted to stay there with him like that forever.
Afterward, as we laid there staring up at the sky looking for shooting stars, he presented me with a gift. It was a beautiful silver bracelet with tiny charms attached that had each of our kid’s birthstones. It was the silver plate in the center, though, that captured my heart the most. In elegant script was the word Forevermore. The first time we said I love you to each other over forty years ago, I asked him how long he would love me, and his reply was forevermore. Since then, we use the word often.
I gasp, and the book falls closed on my lap. What are the odds that Clara and Charles use the same phrase that Lincoln and I use? I mean, it’s not a common phrase, right? I’ve never heard of anyone else use it before. Until now. As much as I enjoy Lincoln and me having a special word we use to show our love, I can’t help the little thrill that forms in my stomach knowing Clara and Charles used it too.
I look up when I hear Gemma moving around. Her movie must be over because the screen is black and she’s closing the iPad case.
“Diddd you ennnjoy your mooovie?”
“Yes, Momma.”
Even lifting something as light as Clara’s journal to put on the table beside me is a struggle, but I manage. I pat the cushion next to me. “Commme sit with meee.”
She bounds over, a sweet smile on her face, and gently sits down beside me. She turns around so her back is facing me and lies her head in my lap. Her beautiful red hair fans out over my thighs as she stares up at me.
My hand trembles when I brush some soft strands from her cheeks. “Yourr sooo beauuutiful.”
“Thank you, Momma.” She grins and her white teeth flash. “So are you.”
I smile gently at her. “I looove yooou.”
She snuggles her head deeper in my lap. “I love you too. A whole bunch.”
Her eyes move to my seashell necklace and she reaches up to trace the outside edges; she used to do that a lot when she was younger. She’d lie on my chest, her attention captured by the necklace as she silently played with it.
Out of all the diamonds, gems, stones, and gold Lincoln has gotten me over the years, this simple seashell is still my favorite.
I make a split-second decision. “Heeelp me taaake it off,” I say, my eyes falling to my necklace.
Gemma frowns, sitting up to face me. “Why?”
I inch my hand over to hers until I touch the tip of her middle finger. “Jussst help meee, and I’lll tell youuu.”
Turning my head when she gets to her knees on the couch, her small hands move my hair to the side, then releases the clasp on my necklace. It falls to my lap.
Gemma stays on her knees and looks expectantly at me.
“Yooourr daddddy gave thisss to me whennn we were yyyounger than you are nnnow.” I pause and look down at the necklace, a smile playing on my lips. “It wasss theee firssst necklace he maaade out of seashellsss. I loved ittt sooo much, he sssaid heee woulddd only everrr make meee thingsss outtt of the seassshells heee finds.”
“But he’s made me things from seashells before,” she points out.
I nod, my lips quirking up. “He hasss. But that’s beeecause you’re ssspecial like me annd he loves us aaa lot.”
Her smile is sneaky. “Does that mean he loves us more than Gray since he hasn’t made him something from seashells?”
I laugh. “Nooo, sillyyy. Hee doesssn’t make Gray thingsss frommm shells becaussse Gray doesn’t carrre forrr things like thaaat. Inssstead he doesss otherrr things wiiith him.”