You Are the Chorus of My Song Called Life.
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“Eight months is your best-case scenario.”
The doctor said it so matter-of-factly.
“Eight months is your best-case scenario.”
As if placing a positive adjective in a sentence filled with your definitive fate would comfort you.
In this moment, the music changed. A verse ended. I watched your face shift from hope to confusion as you listened. I watched you like you watched me walk down the aisle six years earlier.
I watched you like I watched you race outside to pick our daughter up off the pavement after her first fall off of her bicycle. I am attentive to your every move. I am agonized over what verse will be next in this song called Life.
You looked scholarly as you listened to the doctor. Your face eager for the words prepared by a physician with 10 years of schooling. 10 years of schooling. Surely, he’ll provide a medical roadmap out of this.
Surely, he didn’t take on 10 years of collegiate debt to deliver bad news. Surely, this is just a new verse in our song called Life.
You are the chorus of my song called Life.
I chose you as my lifetime friend. My ride-or-die companion. My hike-two-days-a-week-or-you’ll-get-bored best friend. My go-to handyman. My rock. My support system. I chose you as my friend for this song we call Life.
And Life meant at least 30 years of wandering the Blue Ridge Mountains and swimming in the Atlantic. Life meant beach-side bonfires and mud runs. Life meant nights on the couch by the fire, and laughter over ice cream.
Life meant life. Mine and yours.
Your love has guided me through the bridges of our song called Life.
I chose you as the father of my children. My come-home-to-dinner-and-play-with-the-kids-superhero. My man of the hour when the hour is 3 am. My sounding board for parenting plans. My rub-my-back-while-I-cry-in-exhaustion partner.
I chose you to be their father for their song called Life. And Life meant waving at the school bus until it was out of sight. Life meant packing sandwiches in plastic baggies until they were embarrassed by plastic baggies.
Life meant carrying them to bed even if they came home drunk from a party. Life meant life. Mine, yours, and theirs.
Each verse with you is a gift in our song called Life.
I chose you as my empty-nester. My tea-at-two-pm-and-whiskey-at-seven-pm-companion. My silver fox. My world-traveling vagabond. My retirement and political advisor.
I chose you to sit next to me in my recliner to listen to our song called Life. And Life meant our first missions trip to Nepal. Life meant picking out a downsized home. Life meant sorting through medical bills together.
Life meant grandchildren. Life meant life. Mine, yours, theirs and their children’s.
“Eight months is your best-case scenario.”
Your face didn’t change when the doctor delivered the news. I am immediately defensive. “We need a second opinion.” “What about radiation?” You place your hand on mine, and I am the first to tears. That’s when I hear the final refrain.
Life is the most incredible song to have ever been written. One handcrafted verse leads to the bridge, and then to the familiar chorus. Over and over our song is curated like this.
We grow comfortable in our song — stretched wide during the bridge, intrigued in a new verse, comforted in the chorus.
But one day you will hear your final refrain. On that day, you’ll know your song has changed and is coming to an end as you know it. This last refrain will break you. It will have you clinging to the walls of your heart in desperation.
In the final refrain, remember its purpose. Remember that this part of your song is the only way to enjoy your next chorus.
Remember, a new song is waiting for you on the other side of it. A song meticulously composed to tie together the playlist of your life.
In the meantime, savor each verse, embrace each bridge, and rejoice in each chorus, for you can’t predict the final refrain.
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Alison Dupra was born at the corner of practicality and unrestrained love. She has a fear of small talk, and falls in love with the vulnerability in others more every day. Alison is a fitness enthusiast, videographer and tech nerd, all in one. She is a believer in second chances and consistent follow-through. Alison lives life with her heart on her sleeve, and wants to make a safe space for everyone around her to do the same. You can find her getting lost in the mountains somewhere on the East coast with her german shepherd dog, Tikka.
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