Susan

She’s lived with it a long time. Matter of fact, I knew her for over a year before I found out. Never a clue on the outside. Finally, seeing her name on a prayer request, hearing someone mention a doctor’s visit, not seeing her near the front row, asking a few questions, the pieces came together.

Cancer. A slow burn. Hot spots, treatments, sickness and then momentary relief have been her life cycle for the last several years, since before I knew her.

Perched behind the drums I see her every Sunday. I love her. I loved her before I knew she was sick. She’s a goof, laughs easily, plainly loves her children, loves her husband, and is an amazing example of courage and faith.

We’re supposed to say these things to, our about, the people we care for when they are dying. But the older I get the more I realize that we say these things so that we, the living, can ease our minds, concentrating on things that will live on even when the people we love can’t, a coping mechanism so that we can mentally look away, not think about the pain, or the constant state of fear being endured living with a stone cold certainty. Niceties and encouragement are more for us, not them.

I can see it now. First the eyes, now the smile. She’s dimming. Regardless of her inner strength, which I believe is no doubt Herculean, she’s losing. She’ll live for many more months. Of that I’m sure. But not long enough.

The first blush of color is on the tip of the maple leaf. Soon when the wind blows, a few will helicopter to the ground. While you stand watching, thinking of someway to frame it, fumbling for the right words to say because custom calls for it and you can’t stand the thought of letting it pass without note, more and more will fire up with deep reds and yellows before they too give way and fall to the ground. Before it’s too late, and when you can’t take it any longer, you reach up and pluck a leaf off so you can hold it in your hand, something to keep. You don’t want to take anything from the tree. How dare you actually, not now, not when you know, but you have to have something. You want to keep something. I want to keep something.

I want to sit by her. I want to ask her questions. I want to make her laugh. I want her to know. I want to forget. I want to remember. I want. I want.

No. Maybe, this time I’ll just stand and watch and marvel at just how pretty she is. As the wind blows harder, I‘ll stand near her, careful not to grab anything, simply turn my face upward, raise my hands, and enjoy the time together as the leaves cascade down around me. As beautiful as it is, autumn never lasts. Winter is coming and I know it. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go play in the leaves.