Michael’s eyes still expressed his keen intellect and attention to detail, in contrast to his body, which lacked the same vigor. His long and agile fingers seemed even more exaggerated by the cancer which was devouring his flesh.

    Was his pretense of fine spirit for his or our benefit? Michael could be difficult to read and I wondered if time would permit me to digest this chapter before his book of life was closed forever.

    I was appreciative to be able to have this opportunity to see him for what I knew was the last time. And I was relieved to have my two best friends at my side for support, although this wasn’t the main purpose for their visit; they would also miss Michael.

1.    As he lay dying
   

2.     My life continued with nights of splendid sleep filled with dreams of promise
   

3.     As he lay dying
   

4.     I awakened from my bed to a glorious bath and then groomed as tribute to another day
   

5.     As he lay dying
   

6.     My mind wandered from world events to simple local pleasures
   

7.     As he lay dying
   

8.     I used my last ounce of strength to keep from joining him as he lay dying!
   

    Michael had entered my life 20 years before to become my breath of life and now I was helpless to be his. It was almost more pain than I could bear and yet I embraced this agony as punishment for being victorious in my own battle with cancer.

    I had won my battle with cancer, but other conflicts within and around me were still raging, although undetectable to the casual observer. My war required a marathon of blind faith, ever hopeful of additional conquests.

    Have you noticed there are some experiences so finely etched into your memory as to rival the details of a royal wedding? The day I was told I must have a breast biopsy, now, is one of these experiences. It was almost a relief to hear these words, because I had made many complaints to doctors in the previous year and had been reassured I was perfectly okay.

    And so began the beginning of the worst of times and also the end of my own innocence with the tree of life. My destiny became a doubtfulness of seeing another snowflake or of watching my young sons grow up, graduate, fall in love and marry. It was 1980 and I was too young to die.

    By the grace of God I was blessed with a wonderful surgeon who spared my life, but not my breast. My renewed life required that I rethink the old rules about family and friends in order to keep my silver thread anchored firmly to the ground. My then-husband and family made it an almost impossible task. As I fought for my life, he taunted me to die or to find someone else and make him miserable. My own mother, a breast cancer survivor with a similar medical history, was not a comfort either. She told me she would have sympathy for me, provided I was dying. My whole world and my entire body felt toxic and I yearned for the antidote.

    I once had a professor who taught us that the solution to pollution is dilution. The solution for my healing, besides prayer and a profound unwillingness to give into my illness, was my loyal and ever-present friends. They had the difficult task of diluting my murky environment to help me locate much-needed healing white light. But my ever-lurking dark shadows, which followed me closely, were strong competition.

    To this day I wonder about my good fortune of survival because I am no more important or no less expendable than another. However, when I look objectively at my life and note its long list of unmet wants, my good fortune seems to be more like its own death sentence.

    Love seemed to escape my life like the bubbles in a well-shaken decanter of carbonated soda. What remained lacked the effervescence to make the beverage enjoyable, however full the bottle. Yet my thirst remained and I continued to drink. And I persisted in wanting as well as needing the safe harbor of a man’s arms. This wasn’t in addition to the love generated by my husband and parents—it was to compensate for the lack. My sons, now grown and husbands who have found their own comfort in another’s arms, fault me for their father’s treacherousness, citing that they know how I am. In hindsight I disagree. It is difficult for my sons to accept that I wanted my survival as much for them as for myself because I knew there were lessons only I could teach them. But these students are still not ready for this eager teacher.

    My sons are now drop-outs from my life, leaving me with memories only. I replay these snippets in time with a wistfulness to reenact the pleasant frames. As for the other ones, I continue to search for areas where they could have been recast or redirected. I abandon these frames with frustration. Is this the same frustration that has caused them to abandon me?         

    In my mind’s eye, I will always remember Michael with gratitude, with love and with a sense of admiration. He was my knight in shining armor, who came to rescue me in my hour of need.

1.     I can’t fry an egg without remembering his smile
   

2.     His chair at the table has been vacant awhile
   

3.     His side of the bed goes empty each night
   

4.     Time and distance doesn’t matter
   

5.     In my memory he holds me tight
   

    And in this crowded mind’s eye I will always long to be the mother my sons imagine I should have been and the mother I know they require.

    Will I ever be as accepting of my circumstance as Michael was in his last hours? For now, I believe the sadness in my eyes wears as if my heart were on my sleeve. It is for no one’s benefit, because for now, no one who truly matters ever looks.