What a day this had been – a patio perfection of blue skies, cool temperatures, breezes to keep the biting bugs grounded. Now the light and the day waned, taking on that darkish, wettish look and feel as Lyn and I sat on the deck above the patio, looking at the clash of light and darkness on the fence between our house and the one next door.
That stark angle contradicted the tropical blooms of the begonia that had been outside all spring and summer, forever young, forever vibrant.
As Lyn and I had been so many years and places ago.
We sat there a little while longer. long enough to watch the shadows and light become one, absorbing the just-delivered news that had cut as sharply as that 45-degree line running from the top of the fence to the earth.
It was ravishing organs in my belly – and while hope is hard to kill, my cancer doctor didn't sugar coat her diagnosis, and we didn't want her to. After biopsies, she put me on a fast track to chemotherapy and urged us to get our legal matters in order.
We've begun. Too, we've begun to understand first-hand the extent to which cancer has affected the lives of so many, ruining some, strengthening others, teaching millions. I can't know what will happen to me, or how fast. But if I have something to share and the time and the strength to pass it on, I'll have my say. Lyn and I hope you will, too.