I slept in till 9:30, when Speedybuns One traipsed in with his father, present in hand. A slow, lovely, present-filled morning, sipping coffee in my bathrobe, kissing pudgy little fingers as they helped unwrap books (L'Engle, Pohl, Dick, Libba Bray), new pans for the induction stove we inherited with the house, a spiffy manual grater-peeler-slicer contraption (selected by Deep Thoughts Ten), a bright blue turban towel for long, wet hair (courtesy of Divagirl Eight), chocolate, and wine glasses.
And to think that, at 42, I may be just two-fifths of the way through my life. I might have another 63 vibrant years to go. Or more. I might go back to school at 88. I might be dancing at 105.
Losing my daughter to cancer at 16 has made me uberwary, of course. I no longer take "growing old" for granted. That's part of why I'm so desperate to Do Big Things now. I can't tell you how pissed, how righteously indignant and apoplectically MIFFED I will be if I die young. And by young, I mean before 85.
Though 85 appears to be pretty young, too.
5 hours ago
2 comments:
Thought I'd check in. I've missed our communiques. I didn't know about your daughter. I don't know when this happened, however no parent should have gone through what you did. Big hug. Hutch
Hey, Hutch! Super big hug back. I've thought about you tons while I was busy being AWOL.
You can read an anonymized version of my daughter's illness and death at www.sadies-brain-tumor.org. I also blogged nearly every day while it was all happening, on my old blog. (Type in my name, as on Facebook, no spaces, blogspot.com.) Not that you need to read it, but if you're interested. Smooch.
Post a Comment