Day 67

March 8, 2022

They got their license  YAY!

For years I've believed that the week of Mar 8- Mar 15th is the week I'm better off hiding away.  This morning I went to meet an old friend and my car had sunk into a mud pit during the night.  Welcome, March 8th.

Red Winged Blackbird

My old friend

she's hiding out

and my memory is weak

ice shines in silver tones

as the sun falls.

You are all right here

speaking to each other

in rhymes

not reason.

25 years ago Cynthia walked into my living room to tell me she had cancer, breast cancer, and not the kind that was treated quickly, nor was this an early detection.  She asked me to be her pal during this journey in her life.  It became my journey, too.  Life is made up of these journeys.  They are scenes and chapters of our lives sticking together, colliding, melding.

This one was 8 years long.  She survived a stem cell transplant and all of the other events that surround it.  She lasted beyond the dreaded 5 year mark and continued to be an anchor for many of us.  7 years into the journey she told me she'd had a dream that a German Shepard was barking ferociously at her on her walk and in the dream I told her to call the dog by its name and it would quiet down.  She did and so did the dog. 

 The next day she told me she thought it meant she was supposed to admit that the cancer was back and she needed to call it by name. She was right.  She died on August 3rd 2004.  I was there with a group of friends and her husband, Bob, letting her go.