Three Miles Down

Mary - I would apologize for sleeping but it seems that would be a constant apology. As I sleep, I dream of better things and a life unrestrained by my physical bonds. As I sleep, I am fighting to find the diseased cells, all the way down to the nuclei to bring out a wrench and pound on what possesses my body. I write to you now because you are sleeping. The day has worn you past your bounds for the 97th day this year, not counting the preceding years in what seems to be an excerpt from a book that one day will change lives. Ironically, it is usually when I feel a little better for a few hours. If we only could find time for us that wouldn’t break bounds of what we can contend with on a daily basis, maybe then it would be a good step forward.


I love your words and writing. I love you more than words. More than I will ever be able to show you in a thousand lifetimes or write about on my best day. My inability to express the depth of your meaning to me whips my soul daily that in this moment in our lifetime, we are robbed of a normal life. A normal life, that seems nice but I don't want that either. We have never been "normal". We are best friends, we argue, we laugh, we love. That seems so abnormal when we really look at how life really works. So to return to our normal life that we could be what we were, yes, yes yes! I would love it. We both know that has about a five percent chance of happening. But I think the odds of us finding each other were 1 in 20 million. So we both know that odds mean very little when our lives by definition defy the odds. So I have to believe there is a chance.

Three people that I know suffering with hard-core diseases have had the unimaginable of divorce come into their already hurting lives. This grim reminder gives me bearing of what Mary is to me. She may be a basket case but I am a in a cavernous hole three miles down. My only light is when she and my kids enter the room to love me for who I am and hope that I will heal to a man greater than the half-dead body that is slowly withering. I can see it in their eyes. I can also see screams of laughter, joy and smiles when I am up and can join them for something as simple as an evening meal.

So tomorrow when you wake up and you remind me to take my meds, know that my confused, usually numb and tingling face wants to smile and say, “Hey let’s head off to Grand Turk, Turks & Caicos today!” As I roll over and go back to sleep for a few more hours, know that my heart wants to join you at the gym or maybe go for a jog like we used to. Just know that I am here, somewhere deep down inside of this withering body and I want to open your basket case so that we can run free and happy again. Until then, may we find God in every person that we meet to remind us that there is always an end and a greater meaning to what seems like madness.