holding fast to without

It was a phone call I wasn’t expecting. 

The second I hear his voice I audibly gasp. 

“You’re still breathing, that’s a good thing.” He nervously states. 

I say his name wrapped in stupid astonishment across time and space. 

He laughs at me, “And mentally alert, that’s a good thing too, Sweetness.”

I ask him “To what do I owe this honor, Doctor?”

“I’m calling to tell you not to be scared, not to give up, that everything is okay.”

“He told you.” I say then I begin crying.  It is mixture of embarrassment & relief.  I had relayed some private medical concerns to one man & he had passed them along to the other, gossiping men, perplexing grown boys still fighting in the play yard.   

“Yes,” he lowers his voice.  I know him well enough to know this means he is hanging his head, pinching the bridge of his nose carefully finding his words, treading awkwardly, “he is a better friend to you than doctor.” There is a pause.  “Misty…” Another pause, “please, don’t give up.”  And we start talking.  Past our current conversation, past all his reassurances I hear a conversation that took place in the wind a long time ago, shouts falling in whispers of how to be brave.  It's hard to believe we ever had that conversation.  Hell, it’s hard to believe he and I are having THIS conversation, talking about my body & its short comings with a man who with one look into his eyes renders me totally speechless.  One word I am laughing so hard I might pee my pants.  One memory I am in tears.  One moment in time I was his.  I was the woman he loved.  At some point I tell him, “This body is like a fucking cage.” 

“When you are scared it scares me.” He admits. 

“I didn’t know anything could scare you.”  “Misty, please, don’t be scared.  God has a reason.  You were given this fight because you are capable of doing this.” 

“You know I don’t believe in God.” 

“But you believe in me?”

“Yes Dear.  In you I believe.” 

When we hang up I hold the phone in my hand & start crying again.  I’m no longer scared, well mostly not scared, not scared enough to cry over.  These are those tears you get when you line up in a sea of pink shirts for the Race for the Cure or when a baby is born: tears of being overwhelmed by the vastness of universe and all that is to come.  Tears of gratitude.  I’m also crying because I miss you, and ‘that’s a good thing’.  Missing you has always been the iron rod I cling to.  Without the idea of you I am totally lost. 

I’m going to be just fine; I’m going dry my eyes and carry on with you without you.  Thank you for everything.