Dialectical Journal Monologue

“Tell me all about it.” I gripped the phone so hard my hand hurt. “Tell me everything about Prague.”

“Oh, Jennie, it’s incredible. So beautiful. I wish you were here, sweetie...”

Hearing my husband’s words, I choked back a sob. I wished I was there, too. More than anything. I pulled myself together and cleared my throat; I didn’t want my voice to shake and give away my distress. “What do you love about the trip so far?”

“I can’t pick just one thing. Everything is amazing. The cobblestone streets…”

I leaned back against the pillows on my bed and listened to my husband rave about Prague: the cathedrals, the history, the food, the culture. I was happy for him, thrilled he was enjoying this trip-of-a-lifetime, but we should have been in Prague together. Tears of melancholy burned my eyes when I thought about how I was missing out. And when I considered my current reality, lying in my sick bed day after day,

“I should be with you!”

But my husband hadn’t gone on a vacation in five years; his every waking moment had been spent caring for me, taking care of my broken body, my needs, managing my illness. Because of that, I forced him to go on this trip. It took months of convincing, but he finally relented, and his sister had gone along with him.

And he was having an incredible time, the best of his life! Without me. As usual. I couldn’t travel; my illness simply would not permit it.

He deserved this trip and I knew that, but for some reason, the excitement in his voice that day tore a hole in my heart. His joy was a cruel reminder of everything I had lost, of all the things I would never do again.

“Hey, Jennie? You still there?”

“Yeah.” I brushed away the tears streaming down my face. “Yeah, I’m here. Just picturing all that beauty.”

“You’ll see it tomorrow. I’ll turn on the video chat on my phone when I tour the castle.” He lowered his voice. “We’ll come back here together, maybe even next