Two Weeks

We stood by the glass in the airport taking every second we could before he had to leave to get home and have a fathers day dinner with the kids. His arms around me, we smiled looking at each other. I interrupted the silence with a quick, “You know you are deeply in love, you’re just scared.”

I didn’t expect him to quickly shoot back, “What am I scared of?” He had put me on the spot. 

I simply said, “fearing the future”. He nodded. Reality was, I was just as scared of the future now. Things had changed for me. Life felt more fragile than before. Even more urgent in some ways. The continuous reminder not to waste the time I have. Stay present Rory, just look at him, “Bowie, grow up,” I threw back. He nodded, a slight laugh and responded.

“Yeh, I probably need to.”

“Just a little,” I added. I softened my thoughts since I knew what held him back most was fear. I also knew his behaviors and actions spoke far more than any words had these past two weeks. “I know you need to go.” 

“I should,” he said and bent down to hug me one last time. This goodbye felt harder for some reason. His lips met mine and we kissed again before I had to watch him walk away. The heaviness I felt in my chest I didn’t have last time we parted. This was different. I reached security and it was as if life knew I was walking the edge of breaking, “Hello ma'am”, the security guard said in typical polite southern greeting, “don’t do a thing, just put all of your stuff here and walk through.” This was extremely different then most airports I had been in. Almost too easy. I didn’t even make it to the gate. I found the first chair and sat down looking out the window. 

I began thinking about the last two weeks. The treatments, the doctors appointments and how I was treated like his partner and knew some things he had forgotten to mention. The drive to Dallas and the ridiculous number of songs that came on about giving love another chance. We both had recognized this. The mutual wanting to leave Dallas early due to our hotel experience and just another piece to how easy we flowed together. The binge watching of our shows we had started while I was recovering. Bowie’s airband in the car and him being silly trying to make me laugh. The food at a little restaurant we couldn’t stop talking about. Looking over at each other on the couch every night and in the car, then smiling before looking away. 

All of our shared routines that brought us both comfort, our bedtime rituals, touch, eyes, laughing at the stupid things we bantered about, morning coffee, walks/jogs, watching the news and how we both ebbed and flowed cleaning up and keeping things moving. And recently the addition of what I like to call, cocktail hour watching the fish we had created a new aquarium for. Even thinking about how we worked seamlessly together building the furniture piece for them. 

It was hard not to think about how well we moved through our daily lives interweaving so easily and yet here we stood parting again. Two people who continued to find their way back to one another, who desperately were scared of losing the other, who both admitted how scared they were, both admittd how much they loved each other and what they missed and both now having the newest thing in common, an illness to bond over. Life definitely had a twisted sense of humor. I felt angry with life and also knew timing was everything. I had major decisions coming for me soon. 

My heart felt heavier as the montage of memories flooded back into my mind. I decided to listen to my song by Peter Gabriel, “Love Can Heal” and I texted Bowie, “It’s harder this time.” He sent back a hug emoji.

After the first flight, I had three hours to kill before my second flight. I found a restaurant to sit in and began overthinking. I realized in that moment how much these two weeks meant to me. How much I needed them, which led me to texting Bowie one more time.

‍ ‍“Take it or leave it but it’s my thank you. And you should say shit when it needs to be said.

Dear

Professor
Sir Absolute Butthead
B
Bowie,

Thank you

I needed these two weeks more than I think either of us realized.

This year has been so much bigger than cancer.

But cancer changed me. It took pieces of my confidence, my sense of normal, and at times even my connection to my own body. I spent months surviving.

What I needed wasn’t really a vacation. I needed to feel human again. Unmasked.

I needed the laughter, the music, the late night tv, the coffee runs, the food, the fish watching, the conversations, the touch, the hugs, the kisses, and the intimacy.

It wasn’t a want. It was something my body, heart, and mind desperately needed after everything I’ve been through.

For two weeks, I felt completely loved. Not because everything is figured out, but because you showed up with your time, your care, your affection, your love, your patience, and your presence.

You helped me feel alive again. You reminded me that I’m still me underneath all of this. More importantly you reminded me how much I feel. I think I had packed away many emotions to survive. For two weeks I got to laugh, love, connect, and simply feel everything again.

Sorry so long. You may be the musician, but I’m the writer.

Thank you Bowie.

Love,

fiery, red, shorty, Rory who is a little soft this year and finding her footing again.”

I held my breath as vulnerability was eating at me. I felt no regret sending it because I had promised to say what I feel and live in the moment. I had to stay true to myself. The phone buzzed and his name popped up on my screen, “Sir Butthead Bowie”. Yes, this was his saved name and well earned may I add. 

“Thank you. I needed it too, I am realizing. As I sit here missing being able to look over at you.”

I smiled. Maybe that had always been us. Two people trying to convince our heads of something our hearts had known for a very long time.