A Whisper You Can Still Hear

Joel, remember when we met — December '20, you with your work friends, me with my sisters? You called me cute, and I laughed it off.

(That was the moment my life had meaning, and I knew you'd be my wife, Miriam. Even as a cocky son of a bitch.)

I was somewhere between embarrassed and flattered. That fine line. It felt smooth—delicate, even profound. Is that possible? You made it seem like so many things were possible. It wasn't love at first sight. Not in the Hollywood or romantic novels sense.

(Oh, it wasn't. Don't I know it.)

But you were so gentle and patient and never pushed me into...well, anything.

(My dad had instilled in me that it was important for the woman to fall for the man, but that it couldn't be done with force. It had to happen. If it was going to happen, it would happen.)

My mother took a shine to you straight away. Dad... on the other hand, took a little work. I remember a hunting trip, and a fall seemed to do the trick. You were so red-faced and red-assed.

(Your mum treated me like her own. Your dad was harder to win, but I respected that. That red-ass moment? Not as off-putting as you make it sound.)

I know, I know, your red-ass was the cutest red-ass I'd ever seen.

(I was forever your old man's guy from that day forth. I loved him. Still miss him.)

I miss him too. I know he'd be so proud of you and happy for the life we've carved out.

Why do I still think of this as a normal conversation? Sitting here next to you, pretending you'll answer, as the monitors bleep as you sleep, and that scent of disinfectant clinging to the flowers? It's so much more than that. We both know it, don't we?

(...I know)

~

You know I love you, Joel. Don't you? I don't know why I am asking that question, today of all days. I'm not usually this uncertain, but for some reason, today has made me question everything.

(I love you so much, my dear Miriam. You said it yourself - you know I do. I don't mind you needing to hear that reassurance. It aches a little, in the best way, when I think about how much I love you.)

Remember summer '24, Joel? I ask like it's casual. Like it's normal.

(Of course I do, Miriam. It's not a stupid question.)

We went to the beach every day thanks to a glorious run of sunshine-filled days and long nights.

(I remember when you tried to avoid showing me your sunburnt back, which looked like an overdone piece of chicken.)

I don't know why we took those umbrellas? There wasn't any breeze at all.

(They helped keep the sand out of the sandwiches, didn't they?)

And why I thought it was a good idea to listen to your mumbled ideas for white bread, mayonnaise, and peanut butter sandwiches. You've always been strange...

(Did you bring any home, or did you have some of my portion too? No response, interesting that is, Miriam.)

Joel, I've never seen you so... alive and in tune with me and our world.

It felt like nothing could break us. But then again, nothing ever does — until it does, right?

Until that blood test or flicker on a screen, black shadow on a monochromatic image, or the lack of sensation. The lack of sensation in someone so full of sensation, so driven by tactility, was perhaps the cruellest cue that things were going to be different. A new us.

(Sometimes life is a cruel professor.)

~

(What's wrong? Why do you keep rubbing your back?)

It’s not the chair. It’s this growing belly — your stubborn little legacy squirming inside me.

~

Joel, do you remember how much we laughed on the way back to our little Airbnb? I still giggle and feel a clawing, throat-blocking sadness at the same time when I think back to those happier times.

(I know, babe. We would be happy again. I know we will. The one thing we could always rely on was each other. Don't give up on us or even you, Miriam.)

I don't want to give up on us, Joel. You always said we could work through any sadness that hit us. But sometimes I wonder...

(I wish we could hold on forever...)

(…I’m not sure I can—)

(—can you still hear me—)

~

(I love watching you when you're silent. Silent and reflective. There have been countless times over the years when I've watched you, sometimes when you don't realise it. I guess like now. I would try to imagine what you might be thinking, knowing full well that it could be any number of 'big expansive thoughts' or 'small microcosmic thoughts'. You were so aware of your feelings, of your energy, of the impact you had and wanted to have on the universe. I know I mocked you gently for it a little, and I know you never took my jibes too seriously. I wish I could tell you that my mockings were masks for my own uncertainty and the fact I wished I could be more like you. I hoped as time moved on in our life together that I'd become more like you. I like to think I got there. That's why it hurts even more...)

I was thinking about the last time we visited Glasgow, Joel. Remember how keen you were to show me the Oldest House in Glasgow, Provand's Lordship.

(I seem to remember you were underwhelmed.)

I was honestly surprised at how underwhelming it turned out to be. I was expecting something... different. But I was just pleased to learn more about your background. I know the city held so much joy and hurt for you.

(It was easier returning to the scene of so many of my highs and lows with you by my side. My parents would have loved you. I told you that, remember?)

I remember when you told me how much your parents would have loved me. It made me sad to know I'd missed out on that. Your stories always made them sound like strong and resilient people. The kind that were considered heroes without special powers.

(I still miss them. I like to imagine they are up there with your dad, busting my balls.)

~

Remember that time we got a little... worse for wear and my mum was not best impressed. We woke the whole house up, including my 90-year-old Gramma, with an impromptu Les Mis medley. Mum was shouting while Gramma was singing at the top of her croaky voice, "Do you hear the people sing?"

(I actually think your mum realised how good we were for each other then. The joy we had in such silliness. She always seemed to be impressed by that.)

~

I am not sure if you are aware, but they've been treating you very well since you've been in here. They change your IV bags and tubing every three days. They are always kind and considerate.

I think it’s cliché to say you only appreciate medical staff when you need them. But maybe that’s the thing about clichés — they stick because they’re true. And you always saw the truth in things before I did.

(I'm not sure how much longer... I can hold on, my love. How much longer before I give in? You were always the stronger one. I've tried to be stronger. Now I just feel so tired. I wish you could hear me!)

~

Joel, please. Joel, please.

You know how fond I am of clichés, but this is too much.

I want to scream to the sky, to a preacher, to a nun, a monk, a scientist, or anyone who would listen.

Why do the good suffer? Why you and not someone else?

Selfish? You're damn right it's selfish.

(I selfishly wish we had more time together. More time to laugh, to debate, to sing, and just be. You're not alone, my darling. But life had different plans, it seems. Life, fate, or whatever you want to put all this down to. At least we had our time together. Our blessed and special time together. I am not sorry for mocking and teasing you, but I am sorry for not telling you how much you truly lit up my life.)

Does my grief and suffering not allow me a little selfishness?

We have only had a short time together. It’s been but a spot on life’s canvas. I am not regretful of what has been. Not one damn second of it. I regret that all the time I have left with you is borrowed and will soon run out.

(…)

I know, I know. Keep it together, Miriam. That's what you'd say. None of us is guaranteed anything in this world. We beat the odds and found each other. I know, I know, Joel. You're right. You always were. Smooth with profundity. Damn that smooth profundity of yours. I love you.

~

Joel, I am not sure if you really remember that summer of '24. The doctors and nurses are unclear. I guess they don't want to instill hope in me if there is none or break what little hope I have without any certainty. I know you better than I know anyone, and know if there is any semblance of who you used to be, you remember it. The sunburnt chicken back, the awful but delicious sandwiches.

Darling, they were the best damn sandwiches I've ever had. I’ll tell our little one all about them. I hope you hold on long enough for the final three months, but my better instincts and life lessons tell me otherwise.

~

I will still continue to visit you. I will sit here. Talk to you until I can't speak and then hold your hand, even as it gets colder, because I want you to know. No, I need you to know that you are loved and always will be. Even if there’s only a glimmer of light left, or just a whisper you can still hear, let that whisper be this: I love you, Joel. Always.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Another more grounded take on the prompt for The Summer That Wasn't. I got quite emotional writing this one.

Here are some other things, including my other entry for the same challenge.