There's Something About A Sunday, Makes A Body Feel Alone


"Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o'erhead!"

from A Psalm of Life by Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

Sunday is lovely.  Its close to 10 p.m.  Jenny is soaking her aching hip and back in the tub. I just returned from Safeway with Abby, who rested her forehead on my shoulder while we were there.  A banner moment, perhaps not, but such a rare occurrence it has to be acknowledged. 

Jenny woke this morning with horrible pain.  Horrible. The pain woke her.  She medicated and then came to see me.  

I worked in the back yard all day. Mowed, scooped, edged, pruned, turned over flower beds, added fertilizer.  Planted wildflowers, sunflowers, corn, pumpkin and a sole perennial. It was glorious.  I'm especially happy that the wind chimes hanging from the willow are now making music again.  The yard is a place that Jenny can spend with friends.  Last fall several of her friends came and made the backyard more livable, spread bark, hung the wind chimes, got her comfy yard furniture.  It was superbly kind.   We already had, prior to diagnosis, purchased a propane heat lamp so we could hang outside and watch outdoor movies at night.

A rare opportunity presents itself, to give Jenny the happiness she would want as she lives the terror of a terminal diagnosis.  Death can come as  a surprise, and the survivors say to themselves, "If only I had known, I would have.  .     . "  I have a gift, knowing that Jenny has a terminal illness, and to try and make the days she has as full of joy as possible.  If she beats pancreatic cancer, then helping her through this as happy as can be, given the day-to-day suffering, is also a mitzvah.

When my days are on the wane, I hope that I have people that love me enough to try and make my days joyous.


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