Do you trust me?

I don’t know why I’m wearing sunglasses.

For a year or so after Randy was diagnosed I was part of an online group of caregivers for patients with brain cancer. I would read the posts of other wives (it was mostly wives) who told stories of how as their husband’s illness progressed their personalities changed and they became irritable, impatient, and sometimes downright mean. This might be attributed to the location and growth of the tumor or the result of steroid use, but no one really knew the cause. Randy was horrified by these stories and insisted that if he ever behaved that way I should move him to a facility rather than be miserable taking care of him. I don’t think I would have done that, but fortunately he retained his ridiculously cheerful outlook through most of his illness.

One day toward the very end a friend came to visit. She didn’t stay long, but he became less and less clear and focused as the visit went on. After his friend left Randy turned to me and asked me questions in a sharp and suspicious tone. Who was here? What’s going on? Who is lying to me?

I answered, Do you know you’re dying? He nodded. No one is lying to you. Toni was just here to say hello.

What aren’t you telling me? he asked.

Do you trust me? I responded.

I don’t know if I can, he said. Give me your phone.

By this time he was completely unable to make sense of a phone, but I gave it to him and watched him frown at it suspiciously.

As he had become less and less able to think clearly he had relied on me more. When he would worry that he needed to take a pill and I told him that he had already taken it he might look doubtful, but I would ask Do you trust me? and he would nod his head. And I would say, okay, you already took that pill so you don’t have to worry about it any more.

But in this moment he seemed adrift, not sure he could trust me. It broke my heart.