3 Minute Fiction #5 - Give Me Three Minutes and I'll Give You a Story
THE DIAGNOSIS -
A Steemit Original -
Ryan James Robinson -
"You have cancer."
I pretty much didn't hear anything after that.
It didn't really sink in until, on the way home, I noticed the tears in my wife's eyes.
"It's okay,'' I said like I always did when my wife was upset.
"Is it?" she said now sobbing. "They said it was aggressive."
"Everything is going to be fine, I'll beat this."
"I hope so."
They said I would need surgery immediately and so I scheduled the operation in only five days. Now I just had to wait.
I was sitting around in kind of a stupor when my daughter burst in. She was home from school and as usual, the instant center of attention. When I saw her face, the diagnosis kind of hit me like a bomb, and I struggled mightily to hold back tears.
"How was your day," I asked, trying to put on a brave face.
"Fine," she said without even looking at me.
I looked at my wife and noticed she had started crying again. Luckily, my aloof young daughter didn't notice, and went running into her room.
At this moment, I began fighting my usual go to emotion - anger. I looked at a whitewashed wall in the den and wanted to punch a big hole in it. I wanted to start cursing, curse the world, the people in it, the powers that be, God. But upon looking at my wife again, and seeing the pure anguish in her face, I knew this would only worsen the situation. So I stayed strong, smiled at her, and said, "Don't bother getting dinner ready my dear, we are going out to eat."
"You sure you want to go out tonight she asked," amidst a slight sniffle.
"Of course I'm sure. You choose where you want to go, I'm up for anything."
"I don't think I can eat."
"A cocktail then."
"Yes, I think I could use a drink."
"Good."
We went to our local haunt, the timing was good because it was kid's night, so my daughter didn't put up any kind of fuss when we told her we were eating out.
The magician was there and he came around to our table and did some simple magic tricks for our daughter. Usually I didn't really notice what he was doing, my wife and I were normally wrapped up in conversation about the woes of the world, or our own, but on this night, I watched with fascination.
"He's really quite good," I said to my family.
I tipped Magic Dan a twenty dollar bill and he was ecstatic.
"Thank you so much sir," he cried.
"No need to call me sir," I said. "The name's Bill. Bill Clayton."
"Nice to meet you Bill," and he shook my hand enthusiastically.
I reflected on the fact that we had probably seen Magic Dan fifty or more times in the past few years of coming to the restaurant on kids night, but I had never once introduced myself, or given him more than a buck or two. I had just always taken him for granted.
On the way home, my daughter, hopped up from the immense brownie sundae she had just consumed, was flailing around in the back kicking my seat. Normally I would have yelled at her for this, but on this night it didn't bother me, I listened to her singing and watched her in the rear-view with endearment.
Work was fine the next day. I wasn't letting the usual things that got under my skin get to me. For some reason, the world began to slow down.
The drive home was pleasant. I was badly cut off at one point, but instead of cursing aloud, and coming up with every nasty insult I could think of, I instantly was able to let it go, and instead, my eyes found a grove of trees between two abandoned buildings. I had been taking this route practically every day for the last twelve years, yet somehow, I had never noticed this little piece of forest before. I pulled over and wandered around within it for a stint, found myself focusing on my breathing after taking in its luxurious smell, and felt more in tune with nature than ever before.
At home that night, I focused on my wife and daughter. I didn't worry about anything looming, including the surgery, and had a wonderful time putting a puzzle together, something up until a day ago I wouldn't have even considered doing.
When it was time for my daughter to go to bed, I told my wife I would put her down.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Of course."
"I was in no rush for her to sleep like I normally was. I always wanted that "adult time" at the end of the day, but now I was like, "forget adult time, I want to see the world and wonderment through the eyes of a kid."
So we horsed around for maybe hours, until finally she fell asleep wrapped up in my arms. I let myself cry just then, not tears of sorrow, tears for feeling sorry for myself, but tears of joy, how lucky was I to have gotten to spend even one moment with this amazing little girl sleeping now before me.
I watched her sleep with an amazing contentment. I didn't know how the future would play out, but I now knew worrying was certainly not going to do me any good. I just let everything slow down around me, let myself see and feel every incremental moment in time. From now on I was just going to enjoy the ride, every moment, no matter how tiny.
I looked down at my daughter's face again and laughed. The only thing I regretted was the fact it took a cancer diagnosis for me to come to this really simple epiphany.