Happy New Year circa 1973
As the time ticks closer to midnight and the new year looms ahead, I find myself so timid and somewhat afraid.
What I realized is I have never really celebrated on New Years Eve. Ok, just a few times. Most always they were with my husband only or a few close friends. I can count the times on one hand.
When we were dating that first year, Jimmy had driven up for Christmas and New Years. We were going to go to a club.
I had been busy sewing a cute velvet dress to wear.
Hours passes as I worked diligently to complete it and I felt worse and worse.
After finishing the hem, I hung it up and looked at it from across the room as I laid down on my bed feeling very tired.
"Pretty" I remember saying to myself.
The next thing you know,
I heard fireworks outside by some of our neighbors.
I thought that was odd to set them off too early.
I got up and ventured upstairs to the living room. Jimmy was asleep on the couch. My parents had gone out and the place was cold and dark.
I felt miserable with a sore throat and felt feverish.
I sat down on a chair across from the couch and watched the sparkles of the fireworks reach over the tips of the trees on the ridge. I watched him sleeping and dare not wake him up.
When I got up to go back to bed, he heard me and sat up. "Happy New Year, honey!", he told me. "I was really dreading going out tonight so I'm glad we are home just you and me. I know you don't feel well." He got up made me some soup and gave me some aspirin. Just a very normal loving thing to do.
I think about that night every year. We didn't need a party.
That will not change.
Cathy
12.31.13
Smiles held in the heart
Smiles held in the heart
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Pivotal Moment
"Yes, I'll ride with you!"
********************************
The day Jimmy found out his biopsy results and we saw the oncologist for the first time was a pivotal point.
We knew there was cancer in him but the extent of it's invasion was still unknown that morning. We woke up and went to breakfast with our friends at the diner as usual. Trying to keep as normal a routine as possible would prove to be the only way to survive day to day.
We held hands in the office waiting for Dr. A to enter the room. Jimmy's hand was warm and felt strong in mine.
Dr. A. greeted us with his casual yet professional manner. Always so impeccably dressed and kind. Very genuine in his demeanor. We were in that state of fear. Kind of like when you were a kid and took a very hard test in school. You were waiting for your grade thinking you may have passed but were unsure of yourself.
He reached inside a large envelope and put the PET scan films up on the light board. Head to toe pictures of the inside of the body illuminated in dark gray and bright white.
Often you might wonder if they really know what they are looking at. How can you tell one shadow or bright spot from another? There were colored pictures printed out on the report form from the radiologist, too.
These looked like someone had melted bright colored crayons in yellow, red, green and blue all over the outline of a human shape.
Dr. A started explaining the scan and the report and pointing to various areas to show us.
Once done, he said
"Jimmy you have a very advanced cancer."
At that moment you are so numb that you feel paralyzed and deaf.
You have been given your test results and all the studying in the world would never have given you a passing grade.
"How long do I have?", I hear Jimmy ask.
Dr. A explains that some people with this cancer can survive. The statistics say 30% survival at five years with chemo and radiation.
On a crisp, clear, blue day in January we learn that there is a 70% chance of a huge storm.
Dr. A. plans out his care strategy with us and wants things to be started right away. He gives us till Monday to begin.
Nothing more has to be said. We are stone silent as we walk back out through the lobby of people who have heard this before or will get similar news. You make eye contact with a few and nod. It is a slow treadmill of people with their caregivers coming and going. There is no need to rush.
Outside in the car it is a unwelcoming cold. The radio plays a song heard a million other times and today I feel like the words
mean more. The tune is sweeter. I look down at my rings and turn the diamonds upright. Out the window all the trees are bare.
In a few minutes we are on the highway.
"I want to stop at the Harley shop. Want to go?" He knows I'm no fan.
"Sure, honey", I say.
In my mind I tell myself that if Jimmy can get through this I will ride on the motorcycle to celebrate. It's a goal to achieve.
Inside we wander around looking. Everything is polished brightly and perfectly positioned one after the other. Road toys. Leather, tattooed men with beards and black with orange HD logo jackets.
I find myself talking to the salesman who sold him his bike. Jimmy is in the restroom at the time. I have met this man before and he is nice.
He asks me if I ride. I tell him no, I really don't like motorcycles because of a childhood accident when I fell from a motor scooter and was severely hurt.
Then he asks about Jimmy. He already knew about the cancer diagnosis since Jimmy had known this guy for a while.
When Jimmy joins us, we are talking casually and then he says, "So, Jimmy are you liking your bike?"
Jimmy just says he loves it but it probably won't be ridden much since he has to start his chemo on Monday. The guy says
"Well you should get out there and ride today. It's a beautiful bright, shiny day!" I agree he should go for a ride when we get home.
What came next surprised even me.
Jimmy turned to me and said, "will you go?".
There was no other answer....
"Yes, I will ride with you!"
Cathy Windham
12/20/13
********************************
The day Jimmy found out his biopsy results and we saw the oncologist for the first time was a pivotal point.
We knew there was cancer in him but the extent of it's invasion was still unknown that morning. We woke up and went to breakfast with our friends at the diner as usual. Trying to keep as normal a routine as possible would prove to be the only way to survive day to day.
We held hands in the office waiting for Dr. A to enter the room. Jimmy's hand was warm and felt strong in mine.
Dr. A. greeted us with his casual yet professional manner. Always so impeccably dressed and kind. Very genuine in his demeanor. We were in that state of fear. Kind of like when you were a kid and took a very hard test in school. You were waiting for your grade thinking you may have passed but were unsure of yourself.
He reached inside a large envelope and put the PET scan films up on the light board. Head to toe pictures of the inside of the body illuminated in dark gray and bright white.
Often you might wonder if they really know what they are looking at. How can you tell one shadow or bright spot from another? There were colored pictures printed out on the report form from the radiologist, too.
These looked like someone had melted bright colored crayons in yellow, red, green and blue all over the outline of a human shape.
Dr. A started explaining the scan and the report and pointing to various areas to show us.
Once done, he said
"Jimmy you have a very advanced cancer."
At that moment you are so numb that you feel paralyzed and deaf.
You have been given your test results and all the studying in the world would never have given you a passing grade.
"How long do I have?", I hear Jimmy ask.
Dr. A explains that some people with this cancer can survive. The statistics say 30% survival at five years with chemo and radiation.
On a crisp, clear, blue day in January we learn that there is a 70% chance of a huge storm.
Dr. A. plans out his care strategy with us and wants things to be started right away. He gives us till Monday to begin.
Nothing more has to be said. We are stone silent as we walk back out through the lobby of people who have heard this before or will get similar news. You make eye contact with a few and nod. It is a slow treadmill of people with their caregivers coming and going. There is no need to rush.
Outside in the car it is a unwelcoming cold. The radio plays a song heard a million other times and today I feel like the words
mean more. The tune is sweeter. I look down at my rings and turn the diamonds upright. Out the window all the trees are bare.
In a few minutes we are on the highway.
"I want to stop at the Harley shop. Want to go?" He knows I'm no fan.
"Sure, honey", I say.
In my mind I tell myself that if Jimmy can get through this I will ride on the motorcycle to celebrate. It's a goal to achieve.
Inside we wander around looking. Everything is polished brightly and perfectly positioned one after the other. Road toys. Leather, tattooed men with beards and black with orange HD logo jackets.
I find myself talking to the salesman who sold him his bike. Jimmy is in the restroom at the time. I have met this man before and he is nice.
He asks me if I ride. I tell him no, I really don't like motorcycles because of a childhood accident when I fell from a motor scooter and was severely hurt.
Then he asks about Jimmy. He already knew about the cancer diagnosis since Jimmy had known this guy for a while.
When Jimmy joins us, we are talking casually and then he says, "So, Jimmy are you liking your bike?"
Jimmy just says he loves it but it probably won't be ridden much since he has to start his chemo on Monday. The guy says
"Well you should get out there and ride today. It's a beautiful bright, shiny day!" I agree he should go for a ride when we get home.
What came next surprised even me.
Jimmy turned to me and said, "will you go?".
There was no other answer....
"Yes, I will ride with you!"
Cathy Windham
12/20/13
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
The Rings
The Rings
I find myself thinking that I
am changing in a very subtle way.
My rings are put away.
The circles of gold
hold years of our happiness
that travel round and round like a spiral.
Without you with me, the energy is interrupted.
The sparkle has dimmed.
The surface etched.
These symbols of our love
can not hold any more love from each other.
One day they will sparkle again and look like new.
Upon the finger of a loved one we knew.
Our stored energy and love will spark theirs and begin anew.
Letting them slip off my finger.
A tear slides down my cheek.
There will never be another that could ever make me feel so complete.
Cathy
12/04/13
I find myself thinking that I
am changing in a very subtle way.
My rings are put away.
The circles of gold
hold years of our happiness
that travel round and round like a spiral.
Without you with me, the energy is interrupted.
The sparkle has dimmed.
The surface etched.
These symbols of our love
can not hold any more love from each other.
One day they will sparkle again and look like new.
Upon the finger of a loved one we knew.
Our stored energy and love will spark theirs and begin anew.
Letting them slip off my finger.
A tear slides down my cheek.
There will never be another that could ever make me feel so complete.
Cathy
12/04/13
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