And So We Live

(My husband's Central Nervous System Lymphoma returned after two and a half years in remission. The following is reprinted from my online journal of heallng at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/johnandchristinweber --we are grateful for all prayers, good thoughts, and healing intentions.)

June 11, 2007

The yellow cover’s on the futon out back, up against the windows on the deck. And those pillows Shirley made for us before last summer’s family reunion – red, blue, green colors -- are scattered here and there both on the futon and on the other chairs. Louie thinks we did it all for him and lolls on each pillow as it suits him, leaving cat hair everywhere.

What a beautiful day. Eighty degrees. What am I doing in here at my computer? John’s in here hooking up his new flat screen monitor. He had me crawling underneath his desk for him a few minutes ago---attach this cord there, that cord here, no, this way! It’s running now. The old one gave out over the weekend. Seemed fine, then suddenly, nothing. Right in the middle of trying to resolve a prescription order with our mail-in pharmacy. Well, John’s wanted a flat screen monitor for way over a year. No time like the present, so today after his lab tests we hopped on the freeway and out to Costco. I shopped for the other stuff while John bought his new monitor and went back out to the car to wait for me.

Yesterday I dug out the caps we collected during John’s last cycle of treatments. He already wore one of them this morning. The chemo’s killing his hair again. He thought maybe a Greek Fisherman’s cap would be nice, so I ordered a summer one in denim—maybe he’s thinking of a salmon fishing trip on the Rogue.

So we live. In ordinary life the cycles sweep wide—cycles of seasons, of years, of events that evolve slowly, reach a peak, even off and then almost imperceptibly decline. John and I now begin again to accommodate ourselves to these tight cycles of four weeks each, with every week an experience so different from the one that came before that the change stuns us until we settle in.

So we live this week of bright colors, new monitors, maybe a new 4x4 – this week of sunshine and of clipping the large bushes up against the house--this week of no more tests now that this morning’s test is finished—this week of good food and being able to eat it and enjoy. We’re mildly aware that thus is as it’s always been; only the cycle has been wider and more slow before, so we could easily get caught up in one phase and think of it as lasting always. Such illusion is impossible now. Each phase lasts a week. We have to be alert or we might miss the way the sunlight slants off a hummingbird’s wing. We might miss the tone of love in one another’s voice. We might miss that moment, never to be repeated, that holds the fulfillment of our dreams.