My husband and I went away for several days without the little one. There is something so renewing so refreshing about skipping town with the man you chose to marry all those years ago. The man who made a younger version of yourself nervous and giggly, but now makes you feel safe and content.. The man who in the past would make your face light up when you would talk about his warm eyes, strong arms, and addictive smile, but now fills your heart with a sense of home and belonging as you talk to your friends about the adventures the two of you, husband and wife, have recently experienced. The man that would make your heart flutter and your palms sweat when you saw his name on your caller ID, but is now the very first person you want to call with news, both good and bad.
After three years of parenting together it was nice to be able to focus on just the two of us for more than an overnight here and there. We spent our days hiking through the forest and our evenings laying in the warm sand listening to the ocean waves crash near our feet. We got tipsy at lunch and ran while bursting into fits of giggles because we almost missed our steam train ride back to the hotel. We had good wine, the freshest seafood, and amazing conversation.
The last evening after several days of rekindling the zest for our love that was ignited so many years before, we sat down to a romantic Italian dinner. As we were discussing what our evening plans entailed an elderly man was seated at a table across from us. He had trouble lowering his tired old body into the seat and his hands were shaky as he reached for the menu. He pulled out a magnifying glass to look at the menu and carefully sipped his wine while waiting to eat. My husband kept glancing at the man and would whisper, "that makes me so sad." Although, the man dining alone filled my heart with a sad loneliness as well I was surprised at how fixated my husband was on this gentlemen. As we finished out own meal the elderly man had finished his and left. My husband, now safe to speak freely, looked at me and so quietly so heartbreakingly in a voice barely above a whisper said, "That will be me someday." I instantly had clarity as to why my husband was so transfixed by this older man dining alone. I quickly felt my heart shatter with sadness for the man I love so very much because we both knew that realistically CF will take me long before either of us sees old age. I was reminded again how heartbreaking this disease is and that even though we live each day as if life were normal there is always the looming knowledge, the heavy sadness that this disease is killing me and leaves me little chance of ever growing old with my husband. It reminded me how angry I was at this disease for what it does to me, how it destroys my body and my life, but most of all that it takes all those who I love the most in the world and drags them down with it.
We had a moment of understanding and acknowledgment of how this disease can break our hearts and then in true fashion to my husband he followed it quickly with, "at least I won't have to argue with anyone about what kind of wine to order." And just like that we pushed the fear behind us and moved in with life because we know our days are numbered and our moments precious so we can't dwell in the what ifs and sadness.