A Sad Day, Full of Hope
Aug. 7th, 2014 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teddy_radiatorSad news today from Denton, Texas. The first year I taught school in Oklahoma way back in 1985, a young man sauntered into my class shortly before school started. He was tall, trendy and cocky, and he stated, "Yeah, I just thought I'd see if I wanted to take your class this year." With all the bravado of a 24-year old, I shot back, "Yeah, presuming I want you to take my class."
He did, and T became more than a student. He became a friend. I think we might have even had secret twin crushes on one another, but I was a good girl back then and the thought of tupping a student was verboten in the extreme. But I won't say I didn't think about it.
Time moved on and so did T; he graduated and embarked on a college relationship with a girl that was terribly unsuited to and totally unworthy of him. Later, after they married, he realised this and got rid of her. I lost track of his whereabouts until I moved back to the US in 2008, and Facebook performed it's only redemptive act by reuniting us. By then, he was very happily married and had been for some time to G, and had two gorgeous kids starting high school. G's a gorgeous woman from Puerto Rico; she was a belly dancer and looked fabulously exotic in her dancing gear. She had long, thick black hair almost down to her waist. I thought she looked perfect for T, and I was spot on.
G found out she had breast cancer in 2009 or so. She had a double mastectomy and chemo, and all seemed to be well for a couple of years. About eighteen month ago, it came roaring back, and G fearlessly launched herself into another round of treatment and ferocious belief that she could beat it. Her hair was gone; her belly dancing days were behind her, but she told any and everyone who'd listen that the cancer would not win.
Today T told me the doctors have given her six months. Two to three without the chemo. she has chosen to forgo the treatment. She wants to spend her last months living, not dying. They have been together 23 years; their kids are barely out of high school. By Christmas, Glenda will no longer be with us.
T related all this to me this morning. This has just come down around the end of July, and they are doing all the right things; making and acting on bucket lists, counseling, etc. They are approaching this with anger and sadness and fear, but with immense, pig-iron courage. Their bravery and love for one another is so inspirational. When I spoke to him today, I was the one sobbing; he was the one comforting me. He and Glenda are unshakable. Last night, T took her on a motorcycle ride, one of her 'bucket list' entries. She was visibly tired and spent the entire time sitting down. Her skull-and-crossbones bandana covering her bald head. She was wearing a t-shirt that said, "I have cancer. I don't want to hear any of your crap." How can you not love that kind of attitude?
They are popular and well-liked in their town; some friends have gifted them the money to go to PR next month so that Glenda can say goodbye. People are helping them because they in turn are giving, generous people. T is resigned, but hanging in there. I love him so much, and Glenda because she too loves him and has made him so happy throughout their marriage. Their kids are trying to come to terms with life without their mom, and it's going to get worse before it gets better, but they know they are loved and they know how to love in return. T is watching them closely. He's a fine dad and a great husband.
I don't know why I'm telling you all this, but I just needed to tell someone. Life is so sweet, and friendships are precious. Even in the midst of all this grief, T and I were able to make one another laugh, and if that's the only thing decent I do in this life, I'll feel like I'm worthy of this good man's friendship.
I am holding my friends and family close today. If I seem a little clingy today, you'll know why.
He did, and T became more than a student. He became a friend. I think we might have even had secret twin crushes on one another, but I was a good girl back then and the thought of tupping a student was verboten in the extreme. But I won't say I didn't think about it.
Time moved on and so did T; he graduated and embarked on a college relationship with a girl that was terribly unsuited to and totally unworthy of him. Later, after they married, he realised this and got rid of her. I lost track of his whereabouts until I moved back to the US in 2008, and Facebook performed it's only redemptive act by reuniting us. By then, he was very happily married and had been for some time to G, and had two gorgeous kids starting high school. G's a gorgeous woman from Puerto Rico; she was a belly dancer and looked fabulously exotic in her dancing gear. She had long, thick black hair almost down to her waist. I thought she looked perfect for T, and I was spot on.
G found out she had breast cancer in 2009 or so. She had a double mastectomy and chemo, and all seemed to be well for a couple of years. About eighteen month ago, it came roaring back, and G fearlessly launched herself into another round of treatment and ferocious belief that she could beat it. Her hair was gone; her belly dancing days were behind her, but she told any and everyone who'd listen that the cancer would not win.
Today T told me the doctors have given her six months. Two to three without the chemo. she has chosen to forgo the treatment. She wants to spend her last months living, not dying. They have been together 23 years; their kids are barely out of high school. By Christmas, Glenda will no longer be with us.
T related all this to me this morning. This has just come down around the end of July, and they are doing all the right things; making and acting on bucket lists, counseling, etc. They are approaching this with anger and sadness and fear, but with immense, pig-iron courage. Their bravery and love for one another is so inspirational. When I spoke to him today, I was the one sobbing; he was the one comforting me. He and Glenda are unshakable. Last night, T took her on a motorcycle ride, one of her 'bucket list' entries. She was visibly tired and spent the entire time sitting down. Her skull-and-crossbones bandana covering her bald head. She was wearing a t-shirt that said, "I have cancer. I don't want to hear any of your crap." How can you not love that kind of attitude?
They are popular and well-liked in their town; some friends have gifted them the money to go to PR next month so that Glenda can say goodbye. People are helping them because they in turn are giving, generous people. T is resigned, but hanging in there. I love him so much, and Glenda because she too loves him and has made him so happy throughout their marriage. Their kids are trying to come to terms with life without their mom, and it's going to get worse before it gets better, but they know they are loved and they know how to love in return. T is watching them closely. He's a fine dad and a great husband.
I don't know why I'm telling you all this, but I just needed to tell someone. Life is so sweet, and friendships are precious. Even in the midst of all this grief, T and I were able to make one another laugh, and if that's the only thing decent I do in this life, I'll feel like I'm worthy of this good man's friendship.
I am holding my friends and family close today. If I seem a little clingy today, you'll know why.
