Toast

Zelda: Not to brag, but I’m lucky. Let me explain.

I’ve been with Zach, for more than 35 years. He knows what I need (chocolate), what I fear (cooking), what I love (the outdoors), what I’m good at (solving puzzles), what I suck at (playing guitar). He encourages me to grow at my own pace, recalibrating expectations along he way. Most important, he calls me on my shit, and I do the same for him. And despite my eccentricities, he stays with me, day in, day out. Our lives are impossibly intertwined, and that works for us.

At the same time, things like this happen.

Zach was making a frittata for a rare afternoon meal. And he told me my job was to make toast. He requested extra butter on his, since he needs the fat.

I was thrilled, because we’ve stopped having regular meals, and Zach hasn’t been eating much. This seemed like a big step in the right direction. 

I went to the kitchen fully confident I could accomplish the task. Zach went to the living room to get off his feet. I heard the couch pop open, and TV started playing one of his new-favorite shows, Judy Justice. 

A few minutes later, Zach yelled from the living room: 

“What the F#&% are you doing in there?”

At the time, I was deep into a work email on my phone. Someone was panicking and I was about to send a message that would save their day. Instead of explaining, I just said, 

“Nothing.”

“I thought you were making toast!” he yelled back.

“I did,” I said. “It’s done. It’s been done for a while.”

“Then why aren’t we eating?”

I froze. Clearly I'd messed up. “I thought I was just supposed to make the toast."

"Jesus Christ..."

"Do you want me to serve it?” I asked.

“Not now. It’s freakin' cold. It's ruined.” He replied.

I sent the message and put down my phone. I found the frittata resting in a skillet in the oven, divided it in 2, plated it with the toast (extra butter on one), and took it to Zach in the living room.

I sat beside him and apologized.

"I didn’t mean to wreck it," I told him.

I took a bite of the frittata. It wasn’t hot, but in my opinion, totally acceptable as far as temperature. But Zach had his eyes closed, his head resting on his hand. He said nothing. A couple long moments passed. Then he looked at the frittata and took a tiny bite. He chewed a couple times, then spit it back out onto his plate.

“It’s rubber. I can’t eat it,” he said.

It broke my heart. He'd spent an hour on his feet in the kitchen making this meal. And I’d ruined it for him. I kept eating, hoping he would take another bite. Instead, he went back to holding his head. 

I knew it wasn’t just miscommunication that ruined the meal. It was the cancer.

It’s ever-present in our home and lives these days and Zach is always in pain. It’s in his back, his shoulders, his sternum, his ribs, his pelvis, and weirdly, the side of his face. And even when the pain is bearable, his stomach starts acting up. Or he’s drenched in sweat for no reason. Or he wants to nap, but can’t. Or he’s going over an infinite to-do list his body won’t let him start, let alone finish. 

He’s always been a do-er–always able to figure things out and get shit done. And now, well, just going from couch to bathroom and back without falling is an accomplishment. It must be so frustrating. 

I finished my half of the frittata still feeling like I’d let him down, but understanding how he must be feeling, and hopeful he’d try to eat something later. 

My phone buzzed with another email. It was the coworker whose day I had saved a few minutes earlier. They were grateful, and signing off for the day. We had never met face to face, and our relationship was purely transactional. It was friendly enough, but I didn’t know much about them, and they certainly didn’t know anything about me. We'll probably chat again, if they hit a snag I can help with. But there's no lasting connection. We might as well be AI avatars in each others’ lives. 

With Zach, it's not just transactional. We truly see each other for the complicated, messy, uniquely beautiful, often stubborn, bundles of contradictions that we are. We're there for each other, always. We empathize, even when we don't completely understand or agree. To me, that’s true love. And that makes us both very lucky indeed.