“Tell me again.”

Sherri smiles as I hold her hand and she begins to speak softly. “His name is Sammy, for Samuel. It means ‘God heard’, and he’s our little miracle.”

“What will you do?”

“Everything. We’ll do everything, my love. I’ll take him to the farm. All the time, I promise. Your parents will tell him about you. As he falls asleep I’ll whisper in his ear of his father and his dreams for his boy. How he was loved before he was born. He’ll have the benefit of everything that made you the man I love, but there’ll be room for him to grow and be his own person.”

It had taken the better part of a decade, but Sherri had gotten pregnant just before my diagnosis. She’s my everything and I can’t stand that I’ll be leaving her alone. It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d never met. I could face this if she hadn’t entered my life, but the thought of not being there when she needed me tears me up.

“Give me a story.”

She smiles again. It was a game we played. We’d pretend that I wasn’t dying and that I was going to be there for her and Sammy. She would make up a small story of a day in our life, just the three of us.

My wife began her story. “We’re tired. It’s been a long day. The drive back from the farm was long, but he slept the whole way. Breathing in that country air and delighting in the sight of the horses thrilled him. We put him to bed but he demands a story. I grab Winnie-the-Pooh to read of the 100-acre wood.

“‘No,’ he says. ‘I want Daddy.’

“I smile and hand the book to you. Sitting next to me, you read to Sammy, the little boy with your eyes. It’s the worn copy of the book that we grabbed from your parents’ house, the one they used to read to you.”

“What does he say?”

“Nothing. Not yet. He reaches out and holds your hand, listening to your voice and slowly falling asleep. When we hear his slight snoring, we get up. You lean over and kiss his forehead and I take your hand. We leave but stop at the door as he mumbles something. We stop to listen.”

I repeat my question. “What does he say?”

“He softly calls for you. ‘Daddy?’ You stop. ‘Yes,’ you say. He pulls his pillow closer and half asleep he says he loves you.

“‘Love you too, Sammy.’”

Sitting up a little in my bed, I smile. “What happens then?”

Her grip tightens on my hand. “I take you back to our room. You slowly remove my blouse, the grey one you like so much. I’m wearing the black demi and you step back to gaze for a moment. My every nerve is tingling as I feel pulled between wanting you to move and loving how you look at me. Shifting my hips, I begin to slide my skirt down.”

My gaze softens and I remember. Her look, her feel, her aroma all come flooding back to me. My passions have been tempered by the illness, but not my love. She’s my everything. My world is closing in, but she and Sammy remain.

“Go on.”

Her voice is still strong. “We’re not as tired as Sammy, but it’s been a full day. We make love slowly, stretching out every moment. You hold my gaze as we become one. When we’re done, you hold me in your arms and whisper ... you whisper ... you tell me that it will always be us.”

She begins to cry and I struggle up to hold her. “In this world and the next, I’ll always love you. Always.”

Her crying slows and she clings to me while I borrow her strength to remain sitting. We stay there in silence, surrounded by memories and my hopes for her future with our son. Minutes tick by and I revel in her warmth and love.

Still holding her, I lie down again. “Stay here with me tonight. Let me hold you.”

I place my hand on her stomach and feel Sammy shift and move, as if he knows it’s his father’s hand reaching to him. Raising my other hand to her cheek, I wipe away a tear with my thumb and kiss the back of her head.

“Go to sleep, my love. We still have a few more tomorrows.”

With thanks to the Antiquarian Association for their feedback and to Chasten and Nora Fares for the editing.

I also greatly appreciate the support of Andrea, Ken, Jerry, Leon, Brad, Adam, Charles, Philip, Zachary, Ken, Laurence and Mr. Z.