Living Until You Die-When Love Overwhelms Me

It has been almost a year since I moved into my house. I know my neighbor felt some happiness and pain as she sold me her mother's house. Her mother had died. I am the new tenant.

She not only left me a clean, orderly house, she left extras. The mat in front of the front door. The lacy window curtains--waterproof-- over the window in the shower. The egg holder in the cleaned refrigerator. Just little things. But I felt so welcome to the new (to me) house.

Even then, she was fighting cancer. She didn't have much energy. But she left me a clean, welcoming house.

Now, in the fourth year of her battle, she is losing. Her husband has taken off six weeks to stay with her. She still gets up and out as she can to tend her garden, to welcome so many coming by to see her.

I see a lot from my screened front porch.

The other day, we had a break in the sometimes stormy weather, and he wheeled her out to the end of the block in her wheelchair.

They made it to the corner and turned back. When they reached my yard, her husband called, "Charlotte, shut your eyes!"

He stepped into my yard to cut a spray of blooming red roses, and scraped the thorns, then handed them to his wife, so tenderly.

I called out,"I won't hide my eyes. It is good for mature women to see romance."

And in a strong voice , his wife replied,"Yes, it is."

She lifted her roses to sniff.

And we all laughed, and he wheeled her home.

And my eyes stung.

My Heart goes out

Valentine's Day.

My granddaughters will celebrate Friday, if school is open, and be off on the actual holiday.

Third-grader granddaughter took home my colored construction paper, my pink and red tissue paper, her crayons and a box suitable for cards last week when the last ice storm approached.

The teacher will give a prize for the best decorated box. My granddaughter completed hers with her very artistic mom, and I presume has delivered it this week. Every kid in her class will put in a card in every other kid's box in her classroom.

Right now, in my neighborhood, in this time, homemade cards are an item. She wants to make all her cards herself. No boughten ones. Her sister in middle school is also working on cards to give some friends. And this makes me smile.

When I was a child, I understood Valentine's Day was romantic, and also about love, because my parents included me. It also was about mutual giving, because I remember my mother taking me to the store to find Valentine cards for her, and for Dad.And she picked her own. Not so many to choose from, for the man, back then. But Mom thought the romance was equal. Reciprocated. Mutual. And included the child they had made.

So on Valentine's Day, at breakfast, I always had cards from both. And heart-shaped redhots from Dad and usually a lace or embroidered handkerchief I would never, ever use, from Mom.
I think I used one at my wedding. Which made Mother smile. She had planned this.

Mom got chocolates. And yes, I was a little jealous. I loved chocolate even then. Mom would always give me a piece, though. Right there! At breakfast!

Unlike many men, my father loved Valentine's Day. Maybe it was the generation. Those old-timers didn't need biz or ads, or promotion. Dad just said St. Valentine made a special day to announce his love, and any time he could, he would. And Mom would smile at him...

I grew up in that.

Wasn't I lucky?

I was going to talk more about the holidays of my youth, but I think I will save it for another year.

There are so many good stories to tell. And again, aren't I lucky?

The Ribbon of Sad in the Mostly Happy

About the time I became a homeowner, one of my Yahzee friends found out why she has been feeling lousy for seven months. Despite repeated vists to a half-dozen specialists and her general practitioner, it was only when her oxygen level was below 90 at the arthritis doctor appointment that she was finally sent to the hospital. She was diagnosed with Stage 2 lung cancer.

Because she is already so fragile from a variety of maladies related to her diabetes, surgery was not an option. Chemo and radiation was, to my surprise. Always an optimist, she opted to try to shrink the tumor(s) in an attempt to have more time, better time. The opposite has happened.

Most of the last six weeks she has been in the hospital, now a transitional one. She is very weak. Yesterday, I was in tears when I left. She could hardly speak; she dozed a lot. Over the weeks, we have talked about things we have scarcely touched on in the years I have known her.

She is a strong woman, and an honest one.

"I smoked for 50 years," she told me bluntly. "My mother died of lung cancer. I brought this on myself."

And yes, I am still smoking. It seems more and more stupid. For me, it has been 30 years.

Her friends, her family, have to say goodbye to her, but she has to say goodbye to all of us. That's a lot of goodbyes. A lot of grief. Her two youngest granddaughters are only 2 and 3. She realizes they will not remember her--and she had looked forward so to seeing all her grandchildren grow some more. She has always looked forward to what comes next, part of her charm.

She believes strongly in God. I know I hear a lot of you puzzle out why that would matter, but to those of us who do, it's a source of strength, of not being all alone, because we can feel the spiritual tie. In her way, she's still looking forward.

The thing is, I've written about a lot of happy in the last few months, while this has been going on at the same time. The happy belonged of a piece. So does this. She is still my friend. She has added to the goodness of my life, and I thank her for that, still. Always. The happy goes on.

Any minute now, my youngest granddaughter will be over to spend the day. Oldest is at a sleepover. We went to the library again yesterday, because, as active as they are, these girls love to read. We got a couple of movies, too. There might be a sno cone later, but we also have root beer and ice cream on hand. I will reheat the spaghetti and meatballs I made for lunch yesterday.

Tomorrow I will visit my friend again. She may be weaker still, she may be a bit better. My sadness is a ribbon through the sweetness of everyday.

This is the point: Life is good. Finally, I have learned that. Life is good.