Trent and I do not fight.  We do not argue.  We are just as mushy and gushy and in love at home as we are when we are out.  We are an amazing and beautiful love story.  He is my dream come true.  I can only pray I am as much his as he is mine.  And then I got cancer and everything stressful in life just got kicked up a notch or two.

For some couples, there might be yelling, screaming, throwing things, etc.  For us, it is just bickering.  We are both highly sensitive.  We are both completely invested emotionally.  We both have everything at stake.  We both are at times optimistic and terrified.  I have raised my voice more in the past week than in the few years we have been togther.  I have cried every day without fail.

I love him madly and passionately.  I cannot put into words what that man brings into my life.  If you don’t already know this about Trent, I’ll be happy to fill you in.  He hung the fucking moon.  He just did. 

So we feel, he and I.  We feel everything and anything that cancer can evoke.  We are learning together to bump into walls and curse, to lean into each other and just let the love that hangs between us heal us.  Yes, we bicker.  But we are bigger than an argument and larger than cancer.  I don’t know why I get so scared sometimes that I might lose out in all of this.  I already won the grand prize.  My fiance hung the fucking moon, for G-ds sake.