Duncan Jones, son of David Bowie and director of the films Moon and Source Code, tells a beautiful, tear-jerker of a story about he and his (now) wife on his Twitter account. Afterwards, he posted the above photograph.
Here is his story:
So I just want to tell you a little story. It may take a few tweets, but I’m hoping you’ll forgive me… November was a hell of a month!
On November 4th, my beautiful fiancé @rodeneronquillo & I were, frisking about in bed, as you do. I am a boob man & found… A lump.
It was a Sunday, so we had to wait to get an appointment to have the lump biopsied but by Wednesday, we had an answer. Cancer. Stage 2.
We were a little overwhelmed by the news: cancer & Election Day, so decided to make it a set, ran down to the courthouse & got married!
So cancer, election, marriage. All on one day! Two days later, Ro was in surgery.
Surgery went really well. Did what we had to do, & were put on a fast track to getting ready for chemo. Starts this coming Tuesday.
Lots has happened between nov 6 and now. Ro will be putting up a blog about what we’ve gone through, but the point is this…
I love my wife more than anyone. She’s young as can be. Women are getting breast cancer younger & younger. Women? check yourselves! ..& men?
Touch up your loved ones. You may save the life of the person you love.
(via baconballsvonfistbeard)
Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone’s hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted - wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought, Please don’t look at me. If you don’t, I can still turn away. Part of you thought, please look at me.
If you remember the first time you saw Alma, you also remember the last. She was shaking her head. Or disappearing across a field. Or through your window. Come back, Alma, you shouted. Come back! Come back!
But she didn’t.
And though you were grown up by then, you felt as lost as a child. And though your pride was broken, you felt as vast as your love for her. She was gone, and all that was left was the space where you’d grown around her, like a tree that grows around a fence.
For a long time, it remained hollow. Years, maybe. And when at last it was filled again, you knew that the new love you felt for a woman would have been impossible without Alma. If it weren’t for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it.
— Nicole Krauss, A History of Love (via somebodysaiditbetter)(via somebodysaiditbetter)
