Tonight I came across an old journal entry that made me realize how quickly things can change. Strange, but at the same time, it made me realize how constant and unwavering the human spirit can be. I then glanced at the date of the entry; it was dated exactly four years ago today. Since the entry eluded to my deceased husband's prognosis and my feelings toward the entire nightmare, the journal entry is no longer just a piece of old thought — it is proof that ambiguity remains as delicious as it ever was… (thank you for the sentiment, Gilda Radner…)
April 19, 2003
I've lived no ordinary life. A multitude of tales, mostly non-fiction, resides in that simple phrase. The current tale that I'm living is one made for color TV. My husbahnd recently had his leg ― from the hip down ― amputated due to a rare bone cancer. Being the evil creature that it is, the cancer spread to both his lungs and his ribcage in a matter of weeks. He (we) are now doing inpatient chemo once a month.
We do not enjoy it.
Still, being the optimistic birds we are, we manage to laugh at our predicament at least once a day. He realizes that mortality is a very real enigma, and he accepts that. So do I. After all, even though I'm as healthy as a horse today, I could get ran over by a Wonderbread truck on my way home from work tonight. Life is an ambiguous journey, and it's always uncertain. We don't dwell on areas of it that we have no control over. As Gilda Radner said, it's delicious ambiguity, I tell you.
After all, we are all terminal, aren't we?
With family at Holston Lake, Tennessee. May, 2003, two months before his death.