My Dad hated hated his Father’s cancer, I gathered from listening to him talk to his small East Tennessee congregation. This is a memory so it has an unreliable element to it. I seem to remember more than one sermon about it but for some reason I think they were weeknight services with Dad running the overhead slide projector.
It’s an association more than anything.
I vaguely remember Ben (my grandfather) picking up sticks and moving nearer Paul. This may have been something I put together much later.
Lines of poems rattle around in my head as I process facing death. This one is from a poem by e e cummings called “Buffalo Bill.” I can’t find it in Poems 1923-1954. But it comes up quickly enough on a google search. I find that cummings lines have a beauty that fits my mood
I emailed my therapist and resigned therapy. I wanted to continue but my energy is so unpredictable. I switched my NYT subscription to everyday home delivery You were right Elizabeth. I look forward to that. Zingerman’s has a sale so I’m working on that plus I have to order some birthday gifts for upcoming birthdays.
I don’t think cancer kills you very quickly so there’s that.
Other than these morbid thoughts, I am feeling quite well. Eileen is bearing up quite well and is continuing to be an unsurprising source of strength. Speaking of strength, I am feeling stronger but am suspicious of mistaking mood for improvement.