Excuse me for a moment, I need to go hug my husband...

Last night Marc found what looked like a mole on his head, a large, irregular, crusty black/brown/greyish ugly nightmare of a mole. He asked me what it was, and as I looked at it, I felt a cold chill fill my belly. It looked like every suspicious mole that I had ever seen on every P.S.A about skin cancer. Just yesterday, Marc had tried to get an appointment for a general check up with his family doctor and was told to call back in October to try again. The colder my innards got, the more steely determination I garnered and I told him that I would call to get an appointment to have it checked out.

I was scared. It took a lot of energy to reign in my considerable imagination. There was no point picking out funeral clothes right away. I found myself following Marc around with my eyes. My husband is a strong man, physically, spiritually and emotionally. He has a keen mind, wide shoulders and a carpenter's arms. He moves through his world with a virile confidence. His heart is soft, and he cries easily, laughs loudly, and is moved to a fearful anger at injustice, especially to children. He leaps at the opportunity to help others, in immediate situations but also with issues that require a commitment of days, weeks, even months if needed.

It seemed odd, that one little spot on his head, under a cloud of blond-grey curls, could threaten such a vibrant, dynamic life.

When we went to bed, I held onto him a bit longer than usual. He asked me if I was okay. I told him how afraid I was. He didn't seem afraid, which didn't surprise me. Marc and I seem to stagger our anxious moments, so that when I am feeling weak, he is feeling strong and visa versa. We don't plan it that way, but it helps us to offer support to each other in difficult times. We joked a bit about when he was allowed to die. I maintained that "'til death do we part" mean my death, not his. He stood corrected. It was silly, but it helped. Then I said, we needed to remember that we are eternal. He agreed, that we would not really die, just our bodies will. I know that his light, his life will never end. I just don't want it going on somewhere I am not, which it would should he move to Heaven prematurely. But go on, he will.

Today, I was able to get an appointment for him to see his doctor in the morning. We went together, and he found out that he had what is called a senior keratosis which is basically a benign growth that looks like skin cancer, but isn't. It's going to be removed and biopsied (Marc offered to remove it himself, but the doctor prescribed patience). Marc thought I would have fun with the "senior" part, which I will. So all is well. I still feel like holding onto him, which he doesn't mind. He was wisely and subtly comforting, acknowledging my fear without stumbling into it or dismissing it. I, in general, really appreciate Marc. We are, after all, still newly married, having celebrated out fourth anniversary in January. He is still the love of my life, my Mr. ooh-la-la. I see no reason why he won't continue to be for the rest of our lives. It is not as if either one of us is perfect or even easy to live with. It has not been an easy transition, combining our lives together.

The thing is, that we have consistently chosen to put ourselves aside to care for each other, to actually do and be what we promised to do and be at our wedding ceremony. Maybe not right away, when conflict hits but always eventually. One thing about getting married later in life is that you get to really listen to the vows, and you know what you are doing when you make those promises. We took them seriously. Of course we have had our moments, moments that we are not proud of. But moments are just moments. Life and love are built on decisions, not moments as the greeting card industry would have us believe.

I don't know if any of this means anything, but it is what I am thinking today, and so it's my duty and pleasure to inflict...um...share these thoughts with you.

I'm going to go hug my husband.

Again.