Women’s stories – Clara

A great love, illness, betrayal and Clara‘s choice to let go of that stolen love.

“Birth is never as sure as death. This is the reason why being born is not enough. WE WERE BORN TO REBORN “

Pablo Neruda


An anonymous room, an armchair like the ones you see at the dentist, a floor lamp with a drip filled with orange liquid hanging and you, lying down, completely astonished with an arm extended to the nurse and a terrified and lost look looking for my eyes. You squeezed my hand tighter at the exact moment that damned needle pierced the vein and drop by drop you started your first chemo. I no longer remember what I invented, how I did, but I managed to reach you, to cross the door of that huge hospital and without even knowing where you were, I managed to find you and sneak into that room. The astonished amazement on your face at seeing me there has erased all my fears, all guilt. Chemotherapy? Yes, it was chemo what you were going to do. Drop by drop that orange liquid would have destroyed that damned tumor that had taken possession of your blood, just as we were living a fairy tale, recapturing us with unprecedented violence in reality. Chemotherapy? yes, the very thing there that we have all heard about, but no one has the courage to ask exactly what it is, what they do to you, how to do it.

In that room, nothing more than a drip and I was able to safely enter without anyone stopping me or asking me anything. And we, there, eye to eye peering into our hearts, talking lightly and with the smile of the two of us, of that absurd love in the eyes of all that had overwhelmed us a year earlier, unexpected and powerful, upsetting our lives quiet of two families envied by all. The elderly lady next to your chair with her needle stuck in her arm, looked at us dazed and amazed by our muffled laughter, so out of place in that place made of anguish and chloroform molecules. And while the drops flowed, one after the other, we organized ourselves for the next day’s skiing. I wouldn’t let you look at that needle and let you talk, I flooded you with light chat, full of projects, I stunned you with programs, I made you make great promises. And so, by preventing each other from talking about that tumor, we discovered together that the nausea did not come and that the day after chemo you could drive, ski, eat polenta and mushrooms, sleep in the cold in a remote cabin in the snow and give me a whole night of love.

Chemo after chemo, checkup after checkup, we found that you weren’t that bad, that you could catch a plane and run away for a weekend, that you could mingle with the cheering crowd and see that concert without stopping for a moment to sing and dance close to me, that you could run under a violent summer storm with soaked clothes and shoes in your hand and suddenly stop and kiss me in the hall of an old building, stunned and inebriated. And discover that it was nice to caress that head, now without hair, and look at your face with no more eyebrows. We could still make love for hours even immediately after chemo and smile at that doctor’s words as he told you it was normal if you couldn’t do it anymore.

We, who could not waste those few moments to be together, had sensed that in our long hugs and in those interminable kisses there was something omnipotent, traumaturgical, an inexplicable alchemy and so, chemo after chemo, reading together the pages of a book, listening to your Ipod together, telling us, dreaming of our future, we got there, to the day when, in front of you, with your arms still marked by bruises left by sharp needles, I opened that envelope and I read that report that decreed total remission. Your cancer was gone.

We had crossed paths a few years earlier by pure chance, we had loved each other as neither you nor I had been able to do. And there, in that very moment, I realized it was time to let you go. You entered my life at the wrong time, it would not have been possible to go further, our children would never have accepted it. Each one took back his gift from the other. That love had had the greatest effect: you were healed and I had opened my eyes to my life. I found the courage to end with a broken marriage and a life that could no longer be mine.

I took my life back in hand. Walking alone, with my kids next to me, I would start all over again: a new job, a new future full of uncertainties, difficulties and fear ahead. I gave you back to her and your children. You have been one of the most precious gifts that life has given me, next to you I discovered what it really means to love, without reservations.

As promised, we never looked for each other again. We resumed walking in the footsteps of our lives, on two parallel paths. And here I am, with life that has returned to amaze me. The time that has passed has hollowed out, blunted, decomposed. Until you arrived, the man of spring. Because life knows how to make you reborn, always.

true story from the blog: http://blog.pianetadonna.it/lestoriediagatha/clara/


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