While She Can Still Smell Them

Chapter 1

My hands are rough. From a life time of work. My father taught me how to fix things. Bikes, pipes, Cars, finances. But this, this I cannot fix. And god, there is nothing more in this world that I want than to fix her.

She doesn’t need to be fixed, because she' not broken. She needs to be cured. But for all the technological advances there is still no cure. I find myself getting upset at the most trivial things. There are air conditioned shoes, we sent men to the moon, we can have ski resorts in the desert, but we can't find a way to make her better? Where is the sense in that? How is that fair?

I have never been the a scholar, but if I had I'm sure I would have focused on things that really helped mankind rather than making sure this CEO doesn't have sweaty feet messing up his thousand dollar shoes.

But I'm not a scholar. I'm a repairman. And if her illness where a clogged pipe, I could snake it out in a jiffy. If her ailing body were a'71 Dodge Challenger, I'd simply flush the engine, replace the spark plugs, and reupholster the seats. But she's not a clogged pipe, and she's not a Dodge. She's my wife. The most beautiful, kind, and moral person I know. And I can't fix what ails her.

But with these hands I will fix what I can. I fix the bed, on the good days she feels well enough to get out of it. I fix her hair and makeup because she says it makes her feel like a lady. And this morning, I'll fix her breakfast.

I set the tray on my side of the bed. I lean over an gaze at her beauty. I wrap a finger around a tendril of her shorn locks. Not the waist length auburn hair she had worn since high school.

Scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast,a glass of millk and pear slices." Are we out of Orange juice?" she asks as she bites the toast.

"The kids finished that this morning" I know she would love some orange juice, but that would interfere with her medication. So I fix her a glass of milk instead.

"No, Bacon?" She asks.

"I forgot to buy it." I know she would love some bacon, but her stomach can't handle the grease.

"Ah, but you remembered my pears." she said soothingly with a smile.

"Yep, I got something right." I concede.

We both know why her breakfast is missing bacon and orange juice but in these little moments it is easier if we carry on the way we did before. Every 'normal' conversation we had took little bites out of the elephant in the room.