A Time To Say Goodbye

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. It was a trip we had made so many times before, but we both knew that this would be the last time. It wasn’t because we were having marital issues, far from it. It had been more than fifty years since Sarah and I said our vows and I’m very confident when I say that we loved each other even more on that last trip than we did on our wedding day. The truth is that cancer is no respecter of love or marriage. It was the big “C” that was taking her from me.

The day we found out is a nightmare that will be burned into my memory until the day I die. It started with a lump that she found when she was taking a shower. I don’t know how we didn’t find it sooner as big as it was. That should have been our first clue that this was serious. We knew what it might be but being the eternal optimist that she was, she convinced me that since we had caught it early, it would all turn out okay. She was wrong.

Her OB-GYN didn’t waste any time. Normally there would be a few days between the mammogram and the results. The fact that she referred her to an oncologist and personally made the phone call to make sure she had an appointment later the same day should have been our second clue. I was with her when we got the results from the full body scan. The cancer was the most aggressive our oncologist had seen in more than thirty years of practice. It had started in her right breast and metastasized into her right lung. From there it quickly spread through her lymph nodes, into her thyroid, and settled deep in her brain where it could not be removed surgically.

She made a decision that day that I still struggle with, but it was her decision to make. The oncologist was a straight shooter. He told her that they were confident they could surgically remove the cancer from her breast, lung, and thyroid, but unfortunately, there was no surgical option to remove the tumor that was rapidly growing in her brain. They could try radiation and chemotherapy but realistically the odds were not good. The cancer was just so aggressive.

In the end, Sarah decided against treatment. She wanted to enjoy the little time she had left. A few more weeks of life would not make up for the pain she would have to endure. The oncologist told us that we would be fortunate if she had more than two or three months at most. That was in February, and we just celebrated Thanksgiving together a week ago. We could not be more thankful than we were for the time that we had together, but that didn’t take away the pain of knowing that soon I would have to say goodbye.

And that’s what this trip was really all about. This wasn’t just some random cabin in the Rockies. It was our home away from home, the place where we went to celebrate, the place we went when life was just too stressful and we needed to get away. This cabin was comfort. It was rest and peace and love and joy. It was tears and sorrow and victory and rejoicing all rolled into one. The memories that we had made there over the years were priceless and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. That being said, I didn’t know if I would be able to keep it after Sarah was gone. Those same memories that I treasured so dearly would haunt me there. I wouldn’t be able to stand on the front porch and watch the sunset without longing for her warmth beside me. I wouldn’t be able to sit in front of the stone fireplace without thinking about all of the love we had made right there on the bear skin rug. But that was a decision for another time. This trip was about making the most of the precious time we had left together. Goodbye was coming and somehow I had to come to terms with it, no matter how painful.

“How are you feeling, dear?” I said as we pulled into the gravel drive. “You think you’re up to walking up the stairs?” I could usually tell by looking in her eyes how she was feeling. That’s why it was surprising to me when I saw more strength in her right then than I had in the previous three weeks combined. It was as if the cabin was the cure for what ailed her.

“You know,” Sarah said, “I feel pretty good today. I think I’ll try the stairs by myself.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said and quickly moved to open her door. “You really do feel good today,” I said as she barely used any of the strength from my outstretched arm to stand.

“It’s this place.” She said. “There’s just something about it. This fresh cool air and the scent of the pines. It’s a balm for my soul.”

“Me too,” I said. It was all I could think to say. I turned to wipe away a tear hoping she wouldn’t see it, but of course, she did.

“Don’t cry, Bram.” She said and put a warm hand on my cheek. “No tears. Not today. There will be time for tears when I’m gone, but this weekend, we celebrate.”

I nodded in response. I didn’t trust my voice for the painful lump in my throat. She wanted me to be happy. She wanted me to focus on the good and live in the moment. She was always so good about that. Left to my own devices I’m sure I would be a miserable old stooge. I like to call myself a realist. I call things as I see them, and I don’t tend to sugarcoat anything. Not Sarah. I guess that’s what made me fall in love with her. She saw the best in everything. Give her a flat tire and she will be thankful for the extra time to sing to the radio while she waits for AAA. Give me a flat tire and I’m cursing the whole time I’m swapping out the flat for the spare. She completed me in so many ways. It would be hard, but for her, I would do my best to set aside my sorrow and live in the moment.

I followed her as she attempted to climb the stairs. She was slow and careful, but she was doing it. First her right foot, then her left, one step at a time. I stood one stair behind and held a steady hand on her back, but she didn’t need it. I expected her to be winded by the time we reached the landing, but she wasn’t. She simply smiled, took a deep breath and turned to face me with her hand in mine. Even at seventy-five years old, she was breathtaking. Her once vibrant red hair was pure white now and thinner than it used to be. And of course, her skin was looser around her cheeks and chin, but there were no deep wrinkles apart from the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes that she had earned from smiling so often. Five decades together and she still made my heart race. I loved her so much.

“Do you remember the first time?” she asked.

I did.

It was our honeymoon in 1971. We didn’t own the cabin then and there was no such thing as Airbnb. In those days you trusted your vacations to a travel agent. “You’re going to love this place,” he told us, “It’s brand new, nestled in the heart of the Rockies just a two-hour drive from the airport in Denver. Its got a big stone fireplace, the whole front is glass, and talk about a view,” he said excitedly, “You’ve never seen anything so beautiful!”

He was right. We had never been anywhere with a view like that, especially at sunset. That was our favorite time of day. I can’t tell you how many times we stood out on the front deck and watched the blue skies give way to marvelous shades of orange and pink and violet as the sun set into the distance. But it was different in the mountains. The air was cleaner, scented with the smell of the pines and cedars that surrounded the cabin. The colors were richer, the sun seemed so close you could reach out and touch it and when it finally slipped behind the mountain peak in the distance, she gasped as the moon and more stars than she had ever seen flooded the night sky. She tucked herself in under my arm and told me how much all of this meant to her without ever saying a word.

We spent the rest of the night on the floor in front of that big stone fireplace making love and talking about all the dreams we had for the future. Five years later when the cabin came up for sale, I took a second mortgage out on our house and bought it as an anniversary gift for her. The rest is history. We never went more than six months from that day on without taking a few days to spend there. Christmases, anniversaries, summer vacations, any excuse we could find as often as we could afford it. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was her favorite place on Earth.

“Like it was yesterday.” I finally said. “Let’s get you inside before the cold gets to you and I’ll go back down and fetch the luggage.”

“You know, I think I’m just going to stand right here and enjoy the fresh air.” She said.

~

I knelt before the fireplace and lit the starter log with a long match. There was plenty of firewood to last all weekend and we would need the fire for warmth. The old boiler worked well enough, but we both preferred the natural heat and smell of a real fireplace. “There we go,” I said as the fire took hold and I carefully laid several logs on the cast iron rack.

“You’ve always had a knack for building good fires.” She said.

“Well, I guess all that time in the Boy Scouts as a kid wasn’t for nothing,” I replied. She giggled. It’s not often you hear the elderly giggle, but for Sarah, it was like a second language. “You hungry? Should I make us something to eat?”

“I just don’t have much of an appetite anymore, honey. Go ahead and make something for yourself. I’m okay, I promise. If I get hungry later, you can make me a snack.”

I went to the refrigerator which was freshly stocked just days before we arrived. Jerry, the caretaker of our little slice of heaven, always made sure we had the best and in return, I made sure he knew just how appreciative we were. Amazing what kind of service you can get if you tip well. I stood there for several moments trying to decide what to make. Sarah came and put her arms around my chest. “You know,” I said, “I’m really not that hungry either.”

“Liar.” She said teasingly. I was always hungry and she knew it.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I just don’t feel like making anything.”

“Would it help if I told you I’d try to eat a few bites so you don’t have to eat alone?

I turned around and smiled as I looked down into her face. “I think I might be a little hungry after all,” I said.

~

After dinner, we sat on the loveseat in front of the fire. I loved to hold her and she loved to be held. “Do you remember our first Christmas up here?” I asked her.

“How could I forget?” She said. “You thought we were going to be trapped up here all winter.” She giggled again. “You were so worried that we wouldn’t be able to get back down the mountain with all the snow even though we rented a Range Rover with four-wheel drive.”

“I should have known better,” I said.

“What’s the fun in that?” Sarah said. “Do you know why I wasn’t worried?”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t think of anything better than being trapped up here with you.”

“I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to get back in time for that big meeting,” I said and shook my head. “What I wouldn’t give to have those days back. I would have called in just for a few more days to spend alone with you, the job be damned. I didn’t show it enough back then, but you were always so much more important to me than my career.”

“I know I was.” She said and pulled my hand to her lips.

“How did you know?”

“It was the little things. The way you never complained about dinner being cold or burned. The way you never made me feel bad for the house being a mess or the laundry not being folded. The way you always answered my calls, even if I called in the middle of a busy day. I’ve never doubted your love for me for a second.” She said.

I pulled her in tighter for a moment and kissed the top of her head. She still smelled like the coconut shampoo that she loved so much. I had bought it for her on a whim one winter day when she told me how much she would love to be at the beach instead of the bitter Chicago cold. I couldn’t take her to the beach that day, I told her, but I could at least make her smell like it. She never used another scent of shampoo after that. To this day when I smell coconut, I think of her.

~

We spent the entire weekend just enjoying each other’s company. We reminisced. We laughed and cried. We talked about all the dreams we had that never came true and we talked about the few that did. We watched the sunset over the mountains. We wandered carefully down to the little brook that ran next to the cabin. We spent hours on end in front of the fire, holding each other in silence. The time was precious to me beyond words.

Finally, early Sunday evening, our son Jimmy made his way to the cabin. Sarah and I were enjoying a last cup of evening coffee at the table when he came in the door.

“Hey Dad,” he said and came around the table to give me a hug. He looked across the table at his mom and said, “Hi… Mom…”

“There’s more coffee in the coffee maker. It’s fresh” I said to him.

“Oh, uh, no thanks, Dad.” He said. “It’s a long drive back to Denver and coffee isn’t kind to my colon.” He laughed nervously.

“It’s time, Bram,” Sarah said.

“But I’m not ready…” I said. I broke down and hid my face in my hands. I know she didn’t want me to cry, but I couldn’t help it. The sobs came in heaves that stole my breath away.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Jimmy said and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “You have to let Mom go. It’s why you came all the way up here one last time.”

“Don’t cry, Bram,” Sarah said. “This goodbye isn’t forever. We’ll be together again before you know it.”

I couldn’t find the words. I just nodded and did my best to pull myself together. I stood from the table and took the urn in my arms. I held it close as I heard Sarah say, “It’s time.” With the urn in one arm and Jimmy’s hand holding the other, we made our way out to the little brook where Sarah used to come to read in the summertime. Just as the sun was setting over the trees behind us. I poured her remains into the babbling water.

“Goodbye, my love,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”