V Day

Don’t worry, this isn’t a “oh I miss Bob, who will buy me flowers?” kind of post. First of all, I did get flowers from an awesome friend of ours literally 2 minutes after I told Char the abridged version of the story I’m about to tell you. And even if she hadn’t, I can go get some flowers if I want them. But I’m not that big into Valentine’s Day, or the expectations around a lot of the holidays that involve flowers or gifts. Not that I would say no, I always love flowers!

Bob and I were never outwardly romantic. We kept that personal (I think, at least). I think the day we were “showy” about our love for each other was our wedding day. Otherwise we kept it private. Holding hands, sitting together, kisses goodbye or hello, that was enough in public.

Last year we started off the year with Bob getting brain radiation. Literally started off the year, it started on January 2nd or 3rd. He was no longer allowed to drive, and I had gone back to work because I had run out of FMLA and paid family leave time. So an “easy day” was taking the girls to daycare, taking him to radiation (which lasted about 5 minutes an appointment but was every day for 3 weeks), take him home, go to work, pick the girls up from daycare, and then go home. On top of that would be the routine visits- oncology, radiation, and specialists due to the nature and locations of some of his tumors. (Specifically a radiation specialist for the tumor in his hip. That had been scheduled before the brain tumors were found and radiation couldn’t be done in both places. Radiation is _rough_ to say the least. Bob preferred chemo over radiation.) So if I was at work, go home and get Bob, go to the appointment, drop Bob off at home, and go back to work. The first week in January I think I worked about 16 hours out of 40. The second week maybe 20 hours. Add to this the kids in winter. Several times that month, due to child illnesses, I would pick the girls up, drop one of them at home (preferably Char because she was able to move easier on her own, remember Char is 3 at this point and Paige is 1 1/2), and take the other child to urgent care to be seen for some kind of cold. I have one child who has asthma and is prone to bronchial problems and a husband who’s immune system is just plain gone. No room for error.

Due to the madness of January, as I had come to call it, Bob and I had started to drift apart. I was as high strung as I had ever been, keeping everything and everyone going, and he was exhausted from the radiation. He couldn’t drive, he couldn’t focus, and he was just completely exhausted. We tried to get help for weekends just so I wouldn’t be the only responsible adult. And I know reading this he would feel so miserable, and I want it known to you if it isn’t already that I did not blame him for any of this. Okay, back to the story.

So when we started the radiation, we talked to a radiologist and her nurse. And then we talked to the nurse for follow up questions. And then the nurse kicked out Bob and tried to talk to me alone. Mind you, I’d been talking to a therapist again mostly regularly since Bob was diagnosed, but Bob hadn’t. He promised he would if he felt the need, and I knew he would if he did. I couldn’t talk to the nurse. I admitted that I was scared but just getting through it- my husband was about to have radiation on his brain. His fucking brain! What the hell was I supposed to think?

I can’t remember how it exactly happened, but the nurse mentioned we should see a social worker for “financial tips.” Stuff like who to go to for money to help pay for gas, or outreach programs, things like that. Long story short, the nurse saw right through our “we’re fine” bullshit and tricked us to go see a social worker for therapy. It was _awful_. As the social worker puts it now (I still see her), I sat on the little couch with Bob, notebook on my lap, head down under my hat, and refused to look at anyone. Namely Bob.

We had never had trouble in our relationship. We hadn’t really ever fought. We had been friends for so many years we knew how the other worked. We were puzzle pieces that fit together. And here we were, unable to even look at each other. Over one really shitty month. We left that appointment, and I remember Bob staring at me in the car before I started driving and my awkward “Don’t look at me!” and his “Look at me!” We were going to make it better. We started to consciously hold hands again. We started to consciously give hello and goodbye kisses. We sat together on the couch instead of on separate furniture. We continued our nightly ritual of saying “Baby! Iloveyou,” before we fell asleep. We also kept going to see the social worker, in case you were wondering, and made good progress because we _wanted_ to get better. Like hell anything was going to break us apart, we were in this for the long haul.

So, what does this have to do with V-day?

Despite my “I don’t expect flowers,” I still _like_ to get them. Who doesn’t? And Bob would always find my favorite somehow- purple tulips. Since I really only got them once or twice a year, flowers were special. Not expected, but special. Last year Bob couldn’t drive so I wasn’t expecting any. Our usual go-to for days like that was a special kind of dinner at home. I really miss his cooking… so that morning was like any other in our crazy world. I took the kids to daycare, we went to an oncology appointment (or some kind of appointment), I took him home, and then went to work. And when I got to work there was this odd box on my desk. Damn sneaky bastard had sent flowers to my work (and no one could get a hold of me when they got there, because I was with Bob). I have never gotten flowers at work. I completely couldn’t stop smiling and giggling. Like legit giggled, and my cubby-wall-mate laughed hysterically at my uncharacteristic girliness. They were beautiful, and colorful, and came in a smiley face mug that he told me he thought would make a cute candy dish for my desk. Damn sneaky bastard… he knows me.

So tomorrow I’m not lamenting that Bob isn’t here to get me flowers. It’s not about the flowers. I still have the card from last year in my wallet, randomly found when I most seem to need it. Because if you do something because people expect it, you’re missing the point. Do things because you want to, because it will make someone happy, and in turn make yourself happy. That’s the Bob Jinks way…