one final entry

I spoke, last time, of K. in the hospital. She’s out. She’s had surgery. She begins chemo again next week. She had me feel her bald head the other day. She was proud because she had soft stubble growing. Not much, mind you…but enough to make her proud.

She has a smile that will light up a room. It’s infectious. I’ve never been so relieved to see a person in my life. What a gift she is to us…and each one of us knows it. We went running to her desk to see her when she came for a visit. Hugs, hands touching, reaching out to feel her…smiles and laughter filling the room.

I told her I was going to shave my head one more time, this weekend. I want to make sure it’s even before I let it grow out. It’s cold. I can’t stay warm. The cold invades my body even when I’m covered with blankets, wearing shirts, sweatshirts, and when the heater is on. I can’t get warm. Is this what it’s like?

I start the growth process.

I know I said I’d stick with her. But I don’t feel bad about this. This is the right thing to do. She’s ready to put it behind her.

Her cancer has spread. It’s now in her lymph nodes. We mourn this.

But she smiles. She laughs. She is living life and refusing to let this disease take her over. And because of this, our mourning turns to celebration. We rejoice in the moments we have with her. We cherish every second.

We are blessed.

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