An Inconvenient Tumor

There have been a lot of jobs I've had to take over since Bryan was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor last April.

Take out the trash. Clean the toilet. Wash, dry and fold the laundry. Drive everywhere. Carry and put away all out groceries. These were jobs that we used to share, but once radiation started to take its toll on Bryan's functionality, my identity changed from fiance and partner to full-time caregiver, nurse and wife.

While I adjusted quickly to all of the jobs that Bryan used to take care of, there was one that I really hated. And it was the most ridiculous job of them all.

What was it? Checking the mail.

I can't explain to you how much I dislike checking the mail. My disdain for this simple activity is completely irrational, as it's perhaps the easiest job in the world. Walk to the front door, pick up the mail key, walk two feet outside the door, turn to the left, open the mail slot, and bring the mail back inside. Done and done.

Not so much. In my mind, mail is totally unnecessary. I pay all my bills and do all my banking online, so I don't get any paper statements. I don't subscribe to any magazines, so I don't have that excitement or anticipation of checking the mail for a new issue of, say, Us Weekly. I don't look at catalogs or penny savers, so those go straight in the recycler. Before Bryan and I moved in together a few years ago, I would let my mail pile up in the box for days. Maybe even weeks. Since there was nothing in the mail relevant to me, I could have cared less. Frankly, checking the mail was a pain in the ass.

This is one of the few areas in which Bryan and I differ. Bryan LOVES to check the mail. His affection for the mail was actually a pet peeve of mine, because when we were dating, we would get all ready for a date and start to leave his apartment when he would decide it was time to check the mail. We'd literally be out the door, hand in hand, ready for date night, when he would dash back inside for the mail key and proclaim "I'll be right back! I gotta check the mail!" He would dash down a flight of stairs, run out to the front of his apartment building, pry open the broken mail door (he didn't even need a key) and grab the stack of envelopes and catalogs. He would proudly come running back up the stairs yelling, "Got it!" I never understood his love for getting student loan and bank statements.

When Bryan eventually moved into my place, he took over getting the mail. I didn't check the mail for over a year. It was fab-u-lous. I didn't have to deal with stacks of catalogs, irrelevant AAA offers, penny savers, or credit card applications. Bryan dealt with all of it because in the midst of it all was his actual mail. My admittedly irrational annoyance for checking the mail disappeared, because I was no longer responsible for it.

Fast forward to last June, when radiation took its toll on Bryan and I started taking over both our responsibilities. I remember one day, Bryan was laying exhausted on the couch after a particularly tough day of chemo and radiation when he asked me, "Can you check the mail?"

I nearly stopped dead in my tracks. Dread trickled down my spine. My responsibility for the mail was back. And while my annoyance level soared for about a second, it was immediately replaced with the knowledge that I needed to suck it up and dutifully check the mail every single day. On time. And show it all to Bryan so he could go through it. Why? Because it made him happy, and making him happy and feel "normal" was my number one priority. Scratch that, it was my only priority. As a result, my perspective on the mail changed completely, because I was responsible for replicating the "satisfying" experience of checking the mail for Bryan. Bryan would no longer be able to walk by himself outside of the apartment to the mail box. He couldn't balance himself enough to get from the couch to the front door. His left hand and arm could no longer hold the key to the mail or hold the mail itself. It was up to me to do something as small as checking the mail to give Bryan an immeasurable level of happiness. Checking the mail was no longer annoying to me because it took on a much greater purpose.

Today, eight months after checking the mail daily, Bryan released me from the duty. I was in the kitchen getting water and came out to see Bryan opening the front door of our apartment. Since this isn't a regular sight, I asked where he was going. He said he was going to check the mail.

Again, I stopped dead in my tracks. Bryan's going outside – OUTSIDE – to check the mail? By HIMSELF? He's going to open the door, hold the mail key, successfully walk over the door jam, maneuver around the door, open the mail slot, hold the mail, and then walk back into the apartment, over the door jam, while holding the mail and the key and balancing himself??? OH.MY.GOD.

It made me nervous, but also thrilled. So I watched just in case he needed help. But he didn't. Bryan got the mail. He came back in to the apartment with the biggest smile I've seen in weeks. I ran over to him and flung my arms around him and together, we celebrated this seemingly tiny, yet huge emotional and physical feat.

For the first time ever, I shared Bryan's joy for checking the mail. And even more so, I felt joy that he's able to slowly take back on some of his "favorite" responsibilities. While it's literally a small step, metaphorically it's a huge one.

I can't wait to see what's next. Taking out the trash? Just kidding, but a girl can dream, can't she?

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