Blossoms That Burn

"Jesus, Pol. It'll only burn for a second. You can peel the glue right off", I said, with undisguised humor. She looked at me with a laser glare, saying "This is the dumbest thing I've ever let you talk me into. My clumsy ass and hot glue, for shit's sake." She slammed the tool down on the table, which hurt her burnt finger even more. I legitimately laughed out loud at her facial expression.

I said, "Polly, you are so damn creative with your drawings. Humor me, and help me make this one floral stem. This is magical stress relief for me, and it might be for you, too."

I took the small round wreath form off of the table and turned it over.

"Look! You lined up that fabric on the back side perfectly. The white stripes match up and you can't even see the edge. That's pretty damn cool for your first try." I tried to keep the encouragement flowing, and I could see a hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth.

She looked at me with a more relaxed face, but had that familiar tired look in her eyes.

"Okay, I'll try this first flower accent, but then I need a break" Polly said. She picked up the glue gun again, and grabbed a bundle of pale pink peonies. She asked me, "Should I use the big blossom in the middle, Rach?"

I told her that was a good start, and she could build around it with the smaller buds. I let her do her thing, and just sat quietly next to her. I watched her position the stems and blooms until she was satisfied, then glue them into place.

Her tongue was sticking out, in that adorable way it did when she was concentrating intently on something. I took a moment to scan her sunken cheeks and the bald patches on her scalp. She caught me staring, put down the glue gun, and asked with rolled eyes, worry, and exasperation, "How bad do I look today?"

I had never lied to her in our 4 year relationship. But, since that fateful day of her diagnosis, I've been much gentler in my truth telling.

"Pol, you are as gorgeous as that day I first saw you at the skating rink. Yes, your blonde hair is thinner. Yes, your fair skin is paler. And yes, your pretty grey eyes are a little bloodshot. But I know you, inside and out, and I love you more now than I ever have before. You are the most stunningly beautiful person I've ever known."

I leaned over, put my head on her scarily visible collar bone, and wrapped my arms lightly around her shoulders. She turned her head into our favorite cuddling position, and kissed my forehead with dry lips.

I could hear the smile in her voice when she said, "Get your frisky hands off of me, Babe, so I can finish this bloom before next week," she chuckled.

I squeezed a little tighter for a split second, and unwrapped my arms from her tiny frame. Once again, she picked up the "damn glue gun" and chose a dainty white tea rose to tuck neatly behind her large center bloom.

"That looks really pretty, Polly. You've done a cool accent bundle. Thank you for sticking it out. Even if you never do this with me again, I'm glad you gave me some time to try." I looked directly into her eyes, kissed her nose, and grinned.

She looked at me with a real smile as she shakily stood up. I resisted the urge to take her arm and guide her. She always hated feeling helpless, so she powered through the walk to our bed.

She wearily plopped herself on the edge, and surprised me when she asked for help.

"What can I do, Babe?" I replied.

"Can you put this pillow under my lower back again? It always hurts after the fucking chemo."

I obliged, and I could tell her brain had flipped back into pissed off mode. But, who could blame her? Her ovaries had railed against her. And, even though they were long gone, the pain of the out of control malignant cells always lingered.

I tucked her favorite fuzzy turquoise blanket around her and looked into her faded, stormy grey eyes.

"I love you, Asshat", I said with a quick wink. "I'm gonna chill out in the recliner for a bit before I start on the dishes and take out the trash."

"You're my favorite Hot Mess", she said as she closed her eyes. These small little jokes have taken on a much bigger meaning lately.

I kicked up our oversized, comfy recliner, grabbed a random throw blanket, and closed my own eyes. The thought of dirty dishes quickly faded away, and I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

I woke some unknown time later to a faint, sing-songy hum coming from the hallway. I groggily got up, thinking that Alexa kicked on some random music in the craft room. I turned the corner and saw the overhead light on, and Polly's shoulders hunched over my craft table.

I stood there for a second, blinking my eyes and finding my bearings. I noticed the Bud Light bottle next to her on the table, with it's sweat dripping onto the stained wood. All of a sudden, I recognized the tune. She was humming the song that we had played at our wedding, "When I Get My Hands On You" by The New Basement Tapes. My heart skipped a beat. I could easily remember the smell of the fresh white rose tucked in her hair as we danced. I heard her sweet voice singing these same words in my ear on our wedding day. I took a step forward to place my hands on her shoulders and sway like we did that day. But, suddenly, for an unknown reason, I felt like I was intruding in her space. Though it was my work room, I felt very out of place. I tiptoed backwards into the hall, not wanting to interrupt her and whatever she was doing.

I stumbled back into the living room, and slipped back into the big enveloping chair. I closed my eyes, and dozed off again to the sound of our song.

The bright sunlight peeking through the window blind woke me. I realized that I was still in the living room, and lazily thought 'so much for getting the dishes done' and sat up for a long stretch.

I headed for the bathroom, and heard Polly's light snore as I walked past our bedroom.

I smiled as I recalled her sitting in the craft room during the night. I also couldn't help but wonder what she had been up to.

Out of curiosity, I stuck my head inside the room and flipped on the light. The empty beer bottle was sitting next to the wreath we had been working on together. I stepped closer, and noticed the flowers had been further embellished. A gossamer pink and white bow was attached to the top of the wreath form over the pretty gingham fabric that she had cut, wrapped, and glued herself.

I was amazed, proud, and kind of shocked at the fragile beauty of her creation. It surprised me that she had wanted to put in more work, and that she was even physically able to do so.

I gently picked it up to admire it, and a bright blue post-it note fluttered off of the back.

"The wreath was yours, but I finished it for myself. You'll know when I need it, and where to place it. Please come visit it often, and know I worked on it with all of my love for you, Rachel."

I clutched the clumsily written note to my chest, and slid down to the floor as my legs gave out. My sobs were silent, though they wracked my entire body. My Polly. My dainty, pale flower, giving me a finger-burning blossom of love. I hope she found it as worth it as I do.