best and worst vacations - another Sandy Herrold tale
One Best Part
I'd made my plans and bought my tickets to fly up and see Sandy and Seattle folks in May of 2010.
Sandy'd had an x-ray because she thought she might have a cracked bone and received a call from the oncologist instead.
She offered me an out; I asked her if she was cray. She said she knew I'd be a great help at the visit, and be good support for her after, but she asked if I was sure. I told her I was grateful that my trip coincided with the doctor visit, and grateful that I'd be there to support her in any possible way.
She was glad; I was glad. (She thinks I'm good with the nuts-and-bolts of medical stuff, since I helped her limp through galbladder attacks when she lived with us... or maybe she just knew I can be extremely practical and useful and direct, and defer emotion when necessity demands in order to get information and results.)
[insert the crazy that is seeing x-rays with "innumerable" tumors on them, and asking questions like, "So are we talking 3 months? 6? A year? Ten years?" and receiving assurances that she wouldn't die in 2010, and then walking home]
One night during my trip we went downstairs, to do some fannish TV watching. I asked her what stuff she had and whether she wanted to do a Wiseguy retrospective.
She said, "I know you're not into it, but I haven't seen the last few episodes of Season six of Supernatural."
I looked at her. I sighed. I said, "You know if you weren't dying of cancer, I'd say 'no', right. But since you are... okay, we can watch Supernatural."
She laughed out loud, that head-thrown-back, count-her-molars laugh, and when she stopped she said, "I'm so glad you said that. Because if you'd been too reluctant, I was going to remind you that I'm dying of cancer and should get to pick what TV shows we watch."
Sandy and I shared that kind of candor that was, I think, really precious to her. It might even be the reason we remained friends over all those years. Not that I think we didn't share with others the kinds of things we shared together; just that I could listen without prejudice or fear to anything she might want to say--from depression and certain dark thoughts that accompany it to... well, to things I won't share even now.
And we could laugh in the face of terrible things. She could plan to manipulate me with her death sentence even as I acknowledged that because of her death sentence, I would, just this once, watch Supernatural. Which I really disliked. For her.
But only because she was dying of cancer. Really though, I'd have watched it anyway. And she knew that too.
* * *
It's a year now. Actually it was a year very, very early this morning. But today has been, emotionally, almost the opposite of the days and weeks that led up to today. Today has been quiet and peaceful, lazy and mellow. Today has held so few tears I almost feel guilty. But I can't cry when I remember how we were both ready and willing to use her terminal cancer to decide what television we'd watch. I can only chuckle. And then the smile lingers on my face. cross-posted from dreamwidth. http://charlottechill.dreamwidth.org/18044.html#comments
I'd made my plans and bought my tickets to fly up and see Sandy and Seattle folks in May of 2010.
Sandy'd had an x-ray because she thought she might have a cracked bone and received a call from the oncologist instead.
She offered me an out; I asked her if she was cray. She said she knew I'd be a great help at the visit, and be good support for her after, but she asked if I was sure. I told her I was grateful that my trip coincided with the doctor visit, and grateful that I'd be there to support her in any possible way.
She was glad; I was glad. (She thinks I'm good with the nuts-and-bolts of medical stuff, since I helped her limp through galbladder attacks when she lived with us... or maybe she just knew I can be extremely practical and useful and direct, and defer emotion when necessity demands in order to get information and results.)
[insert the crazy that is seeing x-rays with "innumerable" tumors on them, and asking questions like, "So are we talking 3 months? 6? A year? Ten years?" and receiving assurances that she wouldn't die in 2010, and then walking home]
One night during my trip we went downstairs, to do some fannish TV watching. I asked her what stuff she had and whether she wanted to do a Wiseguy retrospective.
She said, "I know you're not into it, but I haven't seen the last few episodes of Season six of Supernatural."
I looked at her. I sighed. I said, "You know if you weren't dying of cancer, I'd say 'no', right. But since you are... okay, we can watch Supernatural."
She laughed out loud, that head-thrown-back, count-her-molars laugh, and when she stopped she said, "I'm so glad you said that. Because if you'd been too reluctant, I was going to remind you that I'm dying of cancer and should get to pick what TV shows we watch."
Sandy and I shared that kind of candor that was, I think, really precious to her. It might even be the reason we remained friends over all those years. Not that I think we didn't share with others the kinds of things we shared together; just that I could listen without prejudice or fear to anything she might want to say--from depression and certain dark thoughts that accompany it to... well, to things I won't share even now.
And we could laugh in the face of terrible things. She could plan to manipulate me with her death sentence even as I acknowledged that because of her death sentence, I would, just this once, watch Supernatural. Which I really disliked. For her.
But only because she was dying of cancer. Really though, I'd have watched it anyway. And she knew that too.
* * *
It's a year now. Actually it was a year very, very early this morning. But today has been, emotionally, almost the opposite of the days and weeks that led up to today. Today has been quiet and peaceful, lazy and mellow. Today has held so few tears I almost feel guilty. But I can't cry when I remember how we were both ready and willing to use her terminal cancer to decide what television we'd watch. I can only chuckle. And then the smile lingers on my face. cross-posted from dreamwidth. http://charlottechill.dreamwidth.org/18044.html#comments