The fact is that each of us is going to die. And, unless we cheat by killing ourselves, we don't get to choose how we die. We can't choose when. And we can't always choose where.
Michael's brain tumor has given us a year together to travel, meet with friends, and get me used to the things that I'll have to do alone. We've had a chance to learn about each other, what we can do, and about our love. Is this bad? Not in my world!
"Bad" is when Mother Teresa writes that she has spent much of her life feeling unloved and unwanted. I will have the joy of knowing that Michael died loving me! What better gift could I have been given?? No, this is not bad.
This year together has been joyful in so many ways. I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever thought I was, and Michael's still here to appreciate that. The women who find their strength only after they are widowed don't get to share that with their husbands.
Michael is still alive to accept my thanks for all that he's done to make my life better after he dies. He is grateful to me now for caring for him, though what I do is small compared to all he's done for me. In this past year, we've done much of what we did in the previous 24: we've laughed and grinned, cried and frowned. Bad? Nope.
ooo
I'm feeling philosophical because one of our friends asked me if I'd read, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People."
We've decided that we are not going to pursue further chemotherapy options. The doctor and literature promise side effects but alleviating current symptoms or even shrinking the tumor are remote possibilities. We're going now for comfort and maximization of fun.
