The Unwinding of the Miracle - Julie Yip-Williams Page 0,67

him and our girls forever, for all I wanted to do was flee, get on an airplane bound for unknown parts where I could die alone with a setting sun. In the state I was in, I was a completely unfit mother and wife, an unfit human being for that matter. I tried to convince Josh that my leaving would be for the best, that he is still a young, handsome man with a successful career and he would be able to find someone to replace me easily, that any woman would love our girls, that the girls are so young they would grow to love their new mother easily enough. I wanted not to fight, but to flee to a place where I could die. I told Josh I didn’t want to live like this, with this diseased body that had failed me one time too many, with the specter of death looming ever closer; that this was no longer a life worth living, that whatever good that would come from now on, whatever laughter, whatever joy would be poisoned by the cancer, and I didn’t want a life poisoned by cancer. I wanted to start over. I wanted to find escape and rebirth in death.

And then I grew angry at the image of this other woman who would have the time and life I should have had with Josh and my girls. I hate her, this woman I don’t even know. I vow that if she does wrong by Josh and my children, I will hurt her. I will come back as a poltergeist and hurl books and vases and anything heavy and painful at her head. And yet I also want her, need her, to come into their lives, to take care of my husband and children. I need her to love them as well as if not better than I do; for as long as Josh and the girls are okay, then I know I will be okay. I need them to mourn me, to remember me for a time, and then I need them to move on and live their lives with joy and abandon. This is what I want for them above all else.

In sleep, I found a reprieve from my waking nightmare, for in sleep I do not have cancer. In sleep, I live the life I wanted. I’ve half convinced myself that death will be like my dreams. In death, my soul will travel to a different dimension, where I will get to live my ideal. There, I will no longer be plagued by the limitations and hurts of this body, but I will have the compassion and wisdom gained from the painful experiences of this life. There, I will know what it is like to see the world perfectly, to drive a car, fly a plane, play tennis. I will get to live a full and complete life with Josh, my great love of many lifetimes. With him, I will travel more of the world and have our two girls and more children. I will cook grand feasts for them and fill the house with the smell of freshly baked breads. Our home will ring with the sounds of innocuous yelling and mundane dramas and warm laughter. And there will be so much love, always so much love.

Every time I woke from sleep, the first thought I had was that I had incurable cancer with a prognosis of several years (and probably less given the seeming aggressiveness of the cancer), and I wanted to scream at the loss of my dreams in my waking hours. Each time I awoke was like mourning the loss of my dreams again and again and again. Torture. Agony. Crushing. It’s enough to make you want to die so you can go live the life that you’ve half convinced yourself awaits.

Josh wouldn’t allow me to lie broken on the ground. He yanked me up by the arms, screaming right back at me, “I will not let you give up. Do you hear me? You will not give up!” In the next breath, he was begging me to fight for him and the children, if not for myself.

I honestly think Josh and the girls would be better off starting over sooner rather than later. No one has been able to convince me otherwise. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want my family to see me die a slow and painful death. I