Author's Note: I would imagine that not many people will enjoy reading about the remembrances of life that come with death. I didn't particularly enjoy writing it, but I needed to; there are two people who know why. One will never read this, and to the other, cor meum in aeternum. At least this was written with honesty.
Earlier stories about these characters are probably not necessary to read, but will provide some background, especially "
The unexpected start of love
."
Thank you to Kate7891 for some excellent suggestions during the preparation of this story.
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Dexter sat by Jen's side as she died.
He knew that today would be her last. The cancer, originally found in her breast, had spread to her liver and bone, and from there things went quickly. There was surgery, radiation, chemo, and then nothing else to do. The predictable stages of grief had swept through Dexter until all that was left was the acceptance of her life, love, and now the pale horse of Death barreling toward him. He spent those final weeks constantly by her side, taking a leave from running his now-large and diversified landscaping company to sit and talk with her while she slid in and out of consciousness, a drip of Dilaudid in her arm that got stronger every few days to ease her pain.
The room now was dark, waiting for the sun to rise. Dexter had decided to let her pass in their home, and for the past two days they had been side-by-side in the bedroom they shared for the past twenty-two years. The cute little colonial that Dexter had stayed in after the divorce from his first wife Ashley, and that Jen moved into about 6 months after they had met. Over time, they had re-decorated rooms one-by-one to make them theirs. Jen never pressed these changes; it was always Dexter, reaching out to connect with Jen in different ways, wanting to be close to her in a house that was a home to both of them.
He sat with her that final day and told her stories of their time together. He wanted her to leave with memories of love to take with her wherever she was going. The old brown leather chair that had been there from the beginning was snugged up against the bed, while on the other side stood a small array of medical equipment the hospice nurses used on their daily visits. Despite that, their room still felt as calm and loving as the first night they had shared it.
Dexter looked down at Jen with tears in his eyes again and said, "Do you remember our first night in this room?"
"I was afraid I would fall in love with you the first time we met, sitting on your front steps. I tried so hard to convince myself that I just needed to get laid, but I knew from right away that something was different. I felt so calm around you, like I could do anything. You remember all that stuff I told you about my childhood, and how my father used to beat the shit out of me, and my mom ignored me? I never laughed or felt happiness back then. I didn't know what it was. I married Ashley because she was like my parents; I understood it. It made sense to me. We never connected and I never felt intimacy. I never could trust anyone because of my parents, and then after Ashley left me for that guy, I thought it was all over for me. I guess I learned that trust and love didn't exist. Not for me anyway. But you stayed close every time I felt alone, you saw me as beautiful when I felt ugly, you showed me how much I meant to you when I felt worthless. You shared your vulnerability with me. You helped sooth all that pain from my past, and then you helped me understand trust, and then it was there. You saved me. You gave me happiness for the first time in my life."
He stopped to take a deep, calming breath.
"That first night," he smiled through the tears weaving tracks down his stubbled cheeks, "You remember the neighbors going at it? Twenty-some years later and I can still hear them in my head like it's yesterday. I wonder whatever happened to them. Probably 90 and still going at it." The thought brought a pang of grief to Dexter. "Talk about setting the mood for us, although I think the mood was already pretty well set..."
"I remember everything about that night. Every small detail. Eating spaghetti together on the back patio, the fire we build, all of it. Jesus Jen, I don't think I ever told you how terrified I was when we came up here that first time. I knew if we had sex, I'd be lost in love with you. I think I already was. I was scared I couldn't perform because I so nervous," he paused, his eyes seeing something far away, "Then again, you always did look amazing in jeans. I'll miss that. How you could put beat up old clothes on and look so fucking good. Do you remember that first Halloween where you dressed as a zombie? How does that make a guy horny?" Dexter let his thoughts go back to their first night together.
"I didn't fall in love because we had sex. It was the second you touched me, when we hugged and you took all that fear away. It felt like you never wanted to let me go. I still feel that hug every second of every day. It never stopped for me. It never will."
He hung his head, letting his chin rest on his chest, and allowed sadness and loss to envelope him. Dexter had learned over these past weeks that if he embraced the grief, it could be healing for him. He let it wash over him like a wave in the ocean to take away the acute pain, leaving him clean again. The deeper pain would always be with him, and he knew that was part of love. He couldn't have one without the other anymore.
He looked up, his painful reverie past, and grinned. "You agreed to sleep over that first night if I had sex with you again in the morning. If I recall correctly, we had sex about an hour later, again in the middle of the night, and in the morning. The sheets were torn off the bed and when we finally woke up, do you remember our legs being stuck together and we peeled them apart? That was the about the funniest thing I've ever seen! I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard," The smile faded and Dexter rubbed his palms across his thighs, a habit that calmed him down.
"I always got so happy when you'd call or text me at work, sometimes just to remind me that you were still there and thinking about me. If I never told you, that meant so much to me, and I don't think a day will go by that I don't check my phone hoping to see your name."
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The cellphone tucked between the seat of the grumbling backhoe and Dexter's groin buzzed.
He shut down the hoe and turned off the tractor to check the message.
'I am sooooooo horny. I'm climbing the walls!' it said.
A little picture of a smiling Jen was next to the text, long, sun-lightened brown hair swept over her shoulder and her blue eyes creased with laughter. Three years older than when they had first meet and he still got butterflies around her. A love affair that had grown from the debris of their first wrecked marriages and Dexter's history of childhood trauma. An unlikely outcome that gave everyone that knew them hope that some sad stories have happy endings.
The time stamp on the text said 11:27 a.m. He was removing tree stumps around an industrial building with a backhoe while most of his landscaping crew re-surfaced a local baseball field when her text came through. She had left before Dexter this morning for an early meeting at her law firm, and as the backhoe sputtered to silence, he wondered again how she managed to sit through meetings day after day. She had said to him once in response to this "So how can you dig up people's yards on a loud, smelly tractor all day long?" His indignation came through when he answered "I do a lot more than that," and Jen crinkled her face up in that way that said 'do you realize what you just said?' Dexter hugged her and said "Ok, I know you do so much more than meetings." Jen pressed herself close and whispered "I think I should do you."
Dexter texted back, a single thick finger laboriously touching letters one at a time, "Better go take care of business then." The phone whooshed to acknowledge the text being successfully sent, and he leaned back to lose himself in the quiet and sun and breeze of perfect summer weather. Her text had guided him back to the memory of their first night together. Their connection had been so strong from the very beginning that physical intimacy came naturally; not sex, not making love, but profound connection between two people. The sense of trust and safety that Dexter had needed so desperately after so many years of feeling isolated and alone. Everything about Jen pulled him out of that lonely world, and the first night they had sex left Dexter truly in love for the first time in his life.
The buzzing phone jarred him back to the present. "Can't. Still in that mtg. Going to duck you tonight."
Dexter smiled at the auto-correction.
He thought of several (what he considered) funny responses, but she beat him with her follow-up text. "Baby, I'm gonna make u quack. Out." The word 'out' was her code that she had to stop texting and attend to whatever was going on at work.
Dexter sat on the tailgate of his work truck to eat lunch. The truck was painted a deep forest green, with a side logo reading "Dexter's Landscaping -- We cut grass, not people". Not many people got the reference to the Showtime series 'Dexter', but he thought it was funny anyway. Jen and Dexter had a long-standing tradition that the first one out of the house made lunch for the other. As former athletes, they both had a deep competitive streak that often led to interesting games of one-upmanship. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich was their equivalent to a white flag, although the winner ended up with a bad lunch.
As he relaxed on the tailgate, legs dangling over the edge, he reflected on all the little 'inside things' that they had built together. A language only they understood. Code words like 'chimichanga,' that meant the speaker was ready to leave a social engagement (although they had to change that particular code word when Jen used it at an office party, saying to Dexter "I have a craving for a chimichanga," and one of her friends jumped on it, "Oh my God, me too! Let's go get Mexican!") There were dozens of secret touches they used that no else understood, each one with a special meaning. If Jen placed her hand on Dexter's hip when she was talking to him in public, he knew it meant that she was feeling especially aroused, and probably came from Jen's habit of holding onto Dexter's hips when they made love. If she put her hands on his chest and stood close, it was to reassure him.
Dexter opened the soft lunch cooler. On top was a small, handwritten note on a yellow Post-It. "D --
Before tonight is over, you're going to be begging! I love you more than anything! -- J"
'Well,' he thought, 'that should make the day creep right along.' He knew it was a gift she gave him to have things to look forward to, even small things. Jen once told him "As great as today is, tomorrow might be even better." A quote from her grandfather and his father before him. He envied how she lived life like it was one unending adventure, and now he was a part of it.
It was 4:30 before he heard from her again.
'Still horny. How about you?'
