A New Foundation

A New Foundation

I clean blood from behind my husband’s ears with our daughters’ tearless shampoo.

Muddy shoes on the front porch, his truck parked where he left it after planting apple trees, putting his t-shirts away and then wearing one just so I can feel close while I sleep without him beside me.

I trace the thick blue line dividing his skull and dab the incisions with antibacterial soap. He bows his head, and I pour water over it, a baptism of life.

I wipe his scalp dry and wrap arms around him—my larger-than-life man, reduced. He holds me close, closer than he has held me in a long time. Maybe years.

He says, wry smile unchanged, “Bet you never thought you’d have to do this.”

I focus on the sunlight pouring through the bathroom window. Swallow hard. “I’m just glad I can.”

Sawdust from his renovations, scattered water glasses never reaching the sink, orange hunting vest stuck behind washer. Each a treasured reminder and not a nuisance: he’ll be back.

We lie side by side in the guest bed downstairs—a constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars strewn across the ceiling from the previous owner. “We’re beginning again,” I tell him, cradling his scars.

And we are. It took a CAT scan, a call, a speed-filled drive down unlit streets to strip away the silt of busyness and petty irritations. At the end of an old year, to build our marriage anew.

Thank you so much for all of your prayers and love. Randy’s brain tumor was a benign (non-cancerous) hemangioblastoma. We return to the hospital on Monday for some follow-up appointments.