The Shroud of Shame

As Dan curled himself in fear, the helplessness brought him back to a time, long before, when he had first found out about her illness. All he knew how to do then to was curl up like a helpless child, and this instinct remained. A flood of events rushed through his memory, which, under normal circumstances would have been easily held at bay by pure will.

At first, insignificant moments flashed in his mind, soothing him. Dan remembered how it felt to lie on the couch next to her while she lightly snoozed. A reassuring serenity would cover his anxiety, there were always problems, but they could wait during these moments. Then, when Sarah was ready to reawaken and continue the day she would nuzzle close to his neck and sigh with intense satisfaction. It was his favorite memory. But it was tainted, for it always lead to the next chapter of their story.

Dan had watched her slowly waste away during what others always called "the best years". Her frequent indigestion and stomach related issues were just one of her idiosyncrasies when they had gotten to know each other. She carefully chose what food to cook or which dish to order at restaurants in order to lessen the pains that occurred after. But when her pain worsened he had taken her to a clinic, even against her complaints. An arduous process began involving a plethora of tests and treatments, opinions, second opinions, even third opinions. The diagnosis came back all the same: advanced stomach cancer. Dan had thought of little black submarines deep in her body, destroying it piece by piece. Doctors tried to comfort them, explaining that symptoms don't appear until well after the disease has taken its hold. It had long been too late.

During their last few months together she had begged him to stop looking for new doctors or clinics to see. Dan could not give her up without fighting, every avenue must be explored, hope must never be lost. But his unwavering fervor only caused more damage. Sarah did not want to fight until the last day, she had realized long before that she had to count her life in months left to live. She asked for trips to the coast, or drives to childhood locations. But most of these requests were overridden by Dan's assertion that she was too weak, that she needed to rest for their drive to a clinic in the next province rather than waste her energy. Sarah hated every second of the hospitals and treatment centers, she resented how everyone treated her as a sack of meat with a defect. Dan had never counted it Sarah's way, he had seen it as years left to lose, and his stubbornness had squandered what little was left. But she had clung to him, for if there was one thing she couldn't manage it was to die with them fighting.

A few weeks before she passed they had been in Ontario to see another doctor when their appointment was abruptly cancelled. This time, when Sarah asked for Dan to take her somewhere beautiful, he had no excuses. Sarah had meticulously mapped out a driving route long before, but her plans had been postponed every other trip to Ontario for clinic visits that often left her consciously impaired for subsequent days. But this time they were able to drive through the Catskills mountains south of the US border. It was summer and the scenery was at its greenest, proudly displaying the spring growth. Although Sarah was weak, she had never been happier, finally away from the sterile faces of hospital staff. Their last weeks were dedicated to going where she wanted, old houses, parks she had played on as a child, even her old elementary school. Saying her goodbyes to brick and stone.

Dan's extended fighting had stolen away her opportunity to see what she wanted, replacing it only with denial. And then she had died. One more unrecognized face in the obituary. The grief over whelmed him, and he barely left his rented duplex for weeks. Being absent from work, Dan lost his job. He never told anyone at work about Sarah, always kept to himself, and a few people were glad to see the "short-tempered introvert" go. But to Dan, her memory brought back flashes of the past. He was powerless to fight the flood of emotions that had resurrected, violently displacing the dirt he had buried them with. So he sat, clinging to his shroud of shame.