Page 78 of Someone to Watch Over Me

“That had to be so frustrating for him.”

“It was. He was always super fit, and to be losing ground so quickly was upsetting. He was hard to be around during that time. Very cranky and out of sorts. We fought more during that year than all the other years put together. Every little thing set him off, and I tried to tell myself he wasn’t himself, but that didn’t take the sting out of being the one he took out his frustrations on. Then he fell again—this time off his bike in traffic, narrowly missing being hit by a truck.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah, that was bad. You know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“That sometimes I wish the truck had hit him and spared him what was coming.”

“That’s not bad, Lex. I totally get why you’d wish for that.”

“I felt terrible later when I realized that as bad as that would’ve been, it would’ve been better than the long, drawn-out nightmare he endured.”

“That you both endured.”

“My suffering had nothing on his.”

“Sure it did. Don’t discount the enormity of his illness for you, too.”

“He was the hero of that story.”

“I have no doubt whatsoever that you were every bit as heroic.”

“I don’t know about that. Anyway, a few months after the fall off his bike, he fell in the shower, and that’s when shit got real. His PCP was the first to suggest ALS. Jim had been thinking it was that for a while by then, but he’d never mentioned it to me. Let me tell you… Googling that acronym was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Tom winces.

“But as I read through the information, it started to add up to what’d been happening for almost two years at that point. He got an official diagnosis Christmas week of that year, shortly after the fall in the shower. My parents suggested we might want to move into their basement so we could have all one-level living. We were in a two-story townhome at that point, with our bedroom upstairs. Jim cried when I said we ought to accept their offer because we were also going to need their help.”

I haven’t told the full story since the first time I joined the Wild Widows. I’d forgotten how exhausting and devastating it is to revisit that time. “At least we had an answer, though, you know? Even if it was the worst possible answer. We weren’t flying blind anymore. There were resources available through the ALS Association, which was just a lifesaver. I’ve stayed involved with them since he passed. They do such incredible work for people dealing with the most hideous diagnosis.”

“When did you move in with your folks?”

“In March of that year. It was a difficult few months spent adjusting to the reality that our time together was going to be cut short. I was struggling to finish the school year before I took a leave of absence. Jim insisted on still going to work for as long as he could. After the doctors suggested strongly that he not drive anymore, which was a terrible loss for someone who loved to drive, one of his colleagues, who lived near us, made it possible for him to keep working for a while longer by driving him every day. Everyone was so incredibly nice.”

I wipe away a tear, the first one to show up during the telling of this story, which is remarkable. The first few times I told it, I sobbed the entire time. I cried for months after the diagnosis. Every time I was alone, I’d dissolve all over again.

“You know what the kicker is?”

“What’s that?”

16

Lexi

“Even in the middle of this massive crisis, I still worried about my dad dying.”

“Anxiety is ridiculous that way. One of Cora’s kids has had a rough time with it.”

“It sure is, and I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s doing better than she was. Good meds help.”

“They sure do.”

“So you moved in with your folks.”

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