The Color of Heaven (3 page)

From that day forward, I saw more beauty in the world than I had ever seen before. I cherished every moment, found joy in the tiniest pleasures, for I understood this amazing gift cal ed
life
.

I gloried in the time we spent together, knowing how precious and fragile it al was. Sometimes I would look up at the sky and watch the clouds shift and rol across the vibrant expanse of blue, and I wanted to weep from its sheer majesty.

We lived in a beautiful world, and I felt so fortunate to have Megan at my side. I had learned that I was stronger than I ever imagined I was, and so was Megan. She had fought a difficult battle and had become my hero. I respected and admired her – more than I ever respected or admired

anyone. I was in awe of her.

In addition, friends and family offered us help and support, and I saw, through the eyes of my heart, how incredibly lucky we al were to be on the

receiving end of al that generosity and compassion. It was something wonderful to witness, and I felt truly blessed.

It may seem an odd thing to say, but I sometimes felt that Megan’s cancer, even though it was painful, had brought something good. It had taught us

so much about life and love. I had grown – so had she – and I knew that this change in us was very profound and would affect both our futures.

Later I would learn how right I was.

For something both glorious and mystifying stil awaited us.

Over the next two years, I helped Megan through her post-remission therapy and cherished every precious moment with her, basking in the joy of

our existence.

Michael reacted differently.

He was overjoyed, of course, when Megan achieved remission. We celebrated and went to Disney World for the weekend. But slowly, over time, as

the weeks pressed on and there was stil no end to the doctor appointments and pil s and blood work, he began to withdraw.

Every evening when he came home from work, he poured himself a drink. Though he never consumed enough to become noticeably intoxicated, it

was enough to change the core of the person he had once been.

He smiled less often (oh, how I missed his smile) and he left al of Megan’s medical care to me. He didn’t attend any of her appointments, nor did

he stay informed about her medications at home. I administered al of them myself.

The Sunday trips to his sister’s house in Connecticut fel by the wayside as wel , along with my writing.

Not that I cared about that. Being with Megan was al that mattered to me – but perhaps that was part of the problem where Michael was concerned.

In the early days of our marriage, when we were passionately in love, he was the center of my world. Maybe he couldn’t accept the fact that I had a

new
hero now, and there were things in life I revered more than his success at the firm or our expensive dinners out.

These were things he didn’t understand.

“They’re just clouds,” he would say when I wanted to lay on the grass and watch them rol across the sky. He would frown at me as I shook out the

blanket. “Don’t be so emotional. It’s ridiculous.”

Or maybe
that
was the heart of the problem. Maybe he couldn’t handle the complexity of his own emotions. We had come very close to losing our daughter, and sometimes it felt like we were stil standing on a thin sheet of ice with a deep crack down its center.

What if it happened again? What if Megan relapsed? What if we had another child and the same thing happened? How would we cope?

It had been so difficult the first time. I couldn’t imagine going through anything like that again.

I understood his fear. I felt it, too, but it didn’t keep me from loving Megan or spending time with her. It only intensified our bond.

I wanted to be closer to Michael, but he was always too tired, not in the mood, or too busy.

Once, I suggested that we try therapy together – surely a child with cancer was enough to warrant a few sessions with a professional – but he was

worried that someone at the firm might find out, and he was determined to stay strong. He was a partner now and couldn’t afford to be weak.

His behavior saddened and angered me, and I regret to say that this wedge in our relationship only grew deeper over time. I felt more and more

disconnected from the love we once shared.

Consequently, when the next bomb hit, our foundations were unsteady. As a couple, we were damaged and vulnerable, and it al went downhil from

there.

On a snowy late November afternoon in 2005, I was putting away the dishes, and Megan screamed in the bathroom. As soon as I heard the terror in

her voice, I dropped a plate on the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces on the ceramic tiles, and my heart dropped to my stomach.

Please, let it be a spider
, I thought as I ran to her.

When I pushed the door open, I found her sitting on the floor with blood pouring out of her nose. She was slumped over, trying to catch it in her

hands.

Quickly I grabbed a towel, held it under her nose and helped her up. “It’s al right, honey. Mommy’s here now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

But I knew it was not that simple. She was not fine. She’d been fatigued for the past week and had lost her appetite.

I don’t know how I managed to think clearly as I helped her out to the front hal . Al I wanted to do was cry or yel at someone, but I could do none of those things because I had to focus on picking up my purse, locking the door behind me, buckling her into the car, and driving to the hospital.

o0o

After two years in remission with normal blood counts and an excel ent prognosis, Megan suffered a relapse in her central nervous system.

The doctor explained that this type of relapse occurred in less than ten percent of childhood leukemia patients, and that Megan would require

frequent spinal taps to inject chemotherapy drugs directly into her cerebrospinal fluid.

I tried to cal Michael on his cel phone, but he wasn’t answering and the receptionist couldn’t tel me where he was.

I was enraged. I remember thinking, as I stood at the nurses’ station and slammed the receiver down, that I wanted to divorce him. Why wasn’t he

here with me? Why did I have to shoulder al of this alone? Did he not care? Didn’t he love his daughter? Didn’t he love
me
?

I sat down on a bench in the hospital corridor and struggled to calm myself before I returned to Megan’s bedside, but my heart was throbbing in my

chest and I was afraid I might, at any second, start screaming like a lunatic.

Why was this happening? Recently, I had begun to feel some security that Megan was going to be al right and live a long, happy life. She would go

to high school, col ege, get married and have children of her own. I was certain that one day, al of this would be a distant memory, because we had

fought hard and beaten it.

But the cancer was back. The treatments had not worked. The leukemia cel s were infecting her blood again.

I stood up and ran to the nearest bathroom, where I heaved up the entire contents of my stomach.

o0o

Sometime after eleven that night, Michael arrived at the hospital. I had no idea where he’d been al day or why he hadn’t answered his phone. I

didn’t ask. Al I did was explain Megan’s diagnosis in a calm and cool manner, because by that time, I had reached a state of numbness. Megan

was sleeping and I couldn’t seem to feel anything. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t yel . I couldn’t even step into Michael’s arms to let him hold me.

I suppose I had been enduring this alone for such a long time that I didn’t need him anymore. I didn’t need anyone – except for Megan, and the

doctors and nurses who could keep her alive.

When Michael absorbed what I told him about the nosebleed and the fatigue over the past week, and the spinal taps and radiation she would

require, he pushed me aside, marched up to the nurses’ station, and smacked his palm down upon the countertop.

A nurse was seated in front of a computer, talking to someone on the phone. “I’l get right back to you,” she said, then set the receiver down and

looked up at him. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“Where the hel is Dr. Jenkins?” Michael asked. “Get her out here.
Now
. She has a lot to answer for.”

I rushed forward and grabbed hold of his arm. “It’s not her fault, Michael. She’s doing everything she can for Megan.”

He roughly shook me away. “Everything? What kind of hospital is this? Why didn’t anyone see this coming?”

“Keep your voice down,” I said. “You’l wake Megan. She’l hear you.”

A baby started to cry somewhere down the hal .

“I don’t care if she hears me! She needs to know that at least
someone
is looking out for her.”

My stomach muscles clenched tight. I could feel my blood rushing to my head, pounding in my ears.

“
Someone
?” I replied. “Like who?
You
? Pardon me for saying so, Michael, but you’ve done nothing for Megan over the past two years. I’ve taken care of her every minute of every day, while you find other more important things to do. So don’t you
dare
pretend to be her savior tonight. I won’t let you make enemies out of the very people who are trying to save her.”

I gestured toward the nurse – though I didn’t even know her name – and she slowly stood up.

She was a tal , broad-shouldered black woman with plastic-rimmed glasses and a fierce-looking gaze. “Is there going to be a problem here, sir?”

she asked. “Do I need to cal security?”

Briefly he considered it, then turned his back on her and faced me. A muscle twitched at his jaw as he spoke. “I told you we should’ve gotten a

second opinion.”

Michael reached into his breast pocket, pul ed out a business card, and tossed it onto the counter. He pointed a threatening finger at the nurse.

“See that? Yeah. You’re going to hear from me.”

He walked out and left me standing there with my heart racing, perspiration beading upon my forehead.

Not because I was afraid, but because it had taken every ounce of self-control I possessed not to punch Michael in the face.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.

“Was that your ex?” the nurse asked.

I glanced at her nametag. “No… Jean. We’re stil married.”

Jean removed her glasses, pul ed a tissue from the box on the counter, and proceeded to clean her lenses while she strol ed out from behind the

counter.

She approached me, slid her glasses back on, then laid a hand on my shoulder. “You look like you could use a Popsicle.”

Not knowing what else to say, I simply nodded and fol owed her into the lunchroom.

Early the next morning, Michael stepped off the elevator and found me reading a magazine in the lounge area outside Megan’s room. He explained

that he’d had a few too many drinks at dinner the night before with an important client, and that the shock of Megan’s relapse had been too much for

him. He apologized for his behavior.

Raking a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, he admitted that he just needed to blame someone. He felt guilty for al of his absences over

the past two years. Then he stopped pacing, looked me straight in the eye, and promised to try harder to be there for us in the coming months.

I closed the distance between us and clasped both his hands in mine. Tears fil ed my eyes as I remembered how, at the age of twelve, he had dealt

with a similar family tragedy when he lost his brother.

“It’s okay,” I gently said. “This has been rough on both of us. We just have to stick together, that’s al . We have to be a team.”

He pul ed me into his arms and held me for a long, long time.

When I final y stepped back, I said, “Can I make a suggestion?”

He nodded.

“It would help if you could spend some time with Megan this morning. She misses you, and she’s scheduled for a radiation treatment this afternoon.

It would lift her spirits.”

Michael’s shoulders rose and fel as he took a deep breath and let it out. “Sure. Okay. Why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee or something.

Looks like you could use a break. You’ve been doing so much. You’ve been amazing. You know that, right?”

A lump the size of an orange formed in my throat. It was the first time my husband had ever acknowledged my unyielding devotion to our daughter.

“Thank you.”

I started down the corridor, but he cal ed out to me. “Sophie, wait.”

I stopped and turned, waited for him to approach.

“Do you ever think about having another baby?” he asked as he stood before me at the elevator.

I hesitated. “Um, not real y. I certainly wouldn’t want to try to get pregnant
now
.”

“Why not?” he asked. “I know things aren’t perfect, but maybe another child could give us something to feel hopeful about.”

My gut turned over, and I felt a little queasy. “I
do
feel hopeful. Every day I cling to that hope. Megan feels hopeful, too, but it’s not just that. If I got pregnant, she might think we’re trying to replace her.” I paused. “No, Michael. Not now. It’s not a good time.”

His gaze darted back down the hal . “You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Maybe when she’s feeling better, we can talk

about it then.”

I touched his arm. “We wil , Michael. I promise. You just caught me off guard, that’s al .”

I pushed the elevator button and watched him walk away, then rode the three floors down to the cafeteria, where I sat alone, sipping my hot coffee in silence, watching people come and go.

I thought of what Michael had said and felt numb al over again, as if I were nothing but a cold, lifeless mass of human matter. I couldn’t move, nor did I wish to make eye contact with anyone who might suddenly strike up a friendly conversation. Lord help me if I had to explain myself...